


Where we stand together

by Jules_In_Neverland



Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith
Genre: F/M, Love, Post-Career of Evil, Right next paragraph, Robin and Cormoran are complete partners, domestic abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-16
Updated: 2019-04-04
Packaged: 2019-05-24 03:02:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 41
Words: 96,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14946378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jules_In_Neverland/pseuds/Jules_In_Neverland
Summary: “I do,” said Robin in a ringing voice, looking straight into the eyes, not of her stony-faced new husband, but the battered and bloodied man who had just sent her flowers crashing to the floor.Strike felt the awkwardness building in the room as the seconds passed and Robin’s beaming face continued to be fixed at him instead of her handsome and young new husband.AND WHAT ELSE? COME FIND OUT!





	1. I do

_“I do,” said Robin in a ringing voice, looking straight into the eyes, not of her stony-faced new husband, but the battered and bloodied man who had just sent her flowers crashing to the floor._

* * *

 

Strike felt the awkwardness building in the room as the seconds passed and Robin’s beaming face continued to be fixed at him instead of her handsome and young new husband. Finally, Matthew cleared his throat and everyone looked back at him, including Robin, who seemed to be surprised with herself, and, with how sensitive her skin was -and how did Strike adore that?!- it quickly turned red as she blushed furiously.

“I’m sorry,” such apologise came quickly in a bare whisper from Robin’s red lips. Strike looked down. What had that been? Had they just had...? But it couldn’t be, right? Kairos moments didn’t happen like... that.

“Right, so for the power I’ve been given by the Church of England, I hereby pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.” Came the voice of the vicar. Strike gulped anxiously and, as he looked on and saw Matthew far too enthusiastically cup Robin’s face between his hands and bring her to an unnecessary passionate kiss, uncommonly long, Strike had to make a conscious effort not to throw up.

For some reason, the kiss hurt more than the injuries Donald Laing had caused her hours before.

Robin and Matthew Cunliffe were required to stay behind while everyone abandoned the church to sign the papers to make their marriage official, and as they walked behind the vicar, Matthew squeezed her hand softly.

“Robin, what was that with Strike? What’s he even doing here?” Matthew whispered.

“Oh, I don’t know, but he must have caught Laing, don’t you realise?” Robin beamed. “Laing gets caught and we get married. Today is a perfect day, isn’t it? I suppose after all Laing put me through he wanted to inform me himself that he will no longer bother us.” Matthew looked at her in disbelief.

“So that beaming face after how serious you’ve been all day, getting distracted from the ceremony...? Was just that you were happy Laing got caught?” They continued to rush whispers.

“Of course!” Robin scowled. “What else? And most brides are serious alright? It’s the nerves.”

“Alright...” but Robin had caught his expression and stopped him mid-step with a hand on his elegantly suited chest.

“Are you serious now, Matthew? Cormoran fired me and you’re still not happy, you need to go up at me with jealousy _again_ two seconds after we’ve gotten _married_?” she snapped in a whisper, scowling. Matthew bit his lip and then sighed, looking around before looking back at Robin.

“I’m sorry Robin, but he wasn’t invited here and yet here he is. I can’t believe you don’t notice the way he looks at you!”

“What?!”

“Mr and Mrs. Cunliffe, are you coming?” the vicar said, looking back as he realised he was far ahead in the little corridor to his office.

“Vicar, sir, would you mind waiting for us there? We want to clear one thing about the papers first, if you’d be so kind to wait ten minutes,” said Robin nicely with her best smile. The vicar sighed, but smiled and nodded, moving away. Then Robin glared at Matthew. “What the...” _You’re in the house of God, Robin, clean that mouth_. “What are you talking about?!” Robin reformulated.

“It’s _obvious_ , Robin! You’re pretty and you two spend so much time together...”

“Like you and Sarah?” Robin said coldly. Matthew paled.

“I married you, can’t we move on from that, baby? I’m sorry!”

“Then stop trying to make me a cheater too. I am faithful, as much as it pains you,” Robin was so angry her eyes got teary, and she was even angrier this was happening seconds after saying I do. “And I can’t believe you made me upset just a moment after marrying you! Is this how our lives are going to be like, Matthew? Because I love you, but I love _me_ more, you know?” it was suddenly clear in her mind. Strike had taught her to put herself first. Her job had given her that. Her job was the one place where she was fully, unapologetically, herself, and she got acclaimed for it. “I loved my job, and I will fight to get it back. To me, is a tragedy that I lost it,” said Robin with angry tears in her eyes. “And I miss Cormoran. He’s my only friend in London, I care about him and he cares about me, he’s got a girlfriend and he’s bloody _not_ into me, and I’ve got a husband and I’m not into him either, got it? But if I have one single chance of getting him and my job back, I am going to do it, regardless of what you think, because his friendship and my job make _me_ feel like a whole person with a whole live outside you and our house, they bring me professional and personal satisfaction and help me be the strong, independent woman, I aspire to be. And you know why Cormoran and I get along so well? Because he understands my passion, he helps me follow it, he encourages me to it, and he acknowledges and rewards my achievements. It wouldn’t be so hard for you to try and do the same and... If you stand between them and me, you stand in the way of me becoming a strong, independent woman, Matthew. You will be standing against your wife reaching professional success, being truly happy, making all of her dreams come true, and not just those that relate to us. And if that’s the husband you are going to be, I refuse to be your wife. I refuse to sign those papers. I won’t allow myself to be one of those wives totally dependent on their husbands and whose lives only consists on pleasing them and revolving around them. I will have my whole life outside of you. One I love.”

Robin had finally planted her feet firm on the ground. Matthew looked at her in disbelief and, after seeing the resolve and seriousness in her eyes, he cursed inside and realised he had no choice, if he wanted to keep her. Robin took a deep breath, but didn’t look away, her eyes nailed in his.

“Fine,” Matthew finally breathed out. “I’m sorry, you’re right... I promise I will try my best to pay more attention to your dreams outside us and encourage you... But baby, I need you to leave Sarah in the past too.”

“Our marriage is a deal, isn’t it?” said Robin with a sniffle, carefully removing the tears from her eyes with her hand, trying not to ruin her make-up, that had been put waterproof with different ideas in mind. “From now on, we will trust in each other, like we just vowed to do. We vowed to love each other. We vowed to support each other. We vowed to respect each other. So let’s do that and stop having jealous rants, the same fights all over... you will be okay with my friendship with Cormoran, and I will be okay with your friendship with Sarah. And we won’t ever cheat.” Matthew stared at her for one moment, and then he nodded.

“I couldn’t have said it better,” Matthew gave her a tender kiss on the lips. “I just want a happily ever after with you and our thrillion children.” Robin giggled against his lips.

“Not that many, but okay,” Robin cupped his face. “Then let’s stop fighting and let’s be happy. It’s what we deserve.” And her lips found his this time.

Meanwhile, Strike smoke a fag by the car alongside Shanker. Strike needed to talk with Robin, so he had resolved to try and sneak into the reception.

“Go back if you want,” he told Shanker. “I’ll grab the train home.”

“Nah,” Shanker shook his head. “We stick t’gether, yer not going all the way back alone with those bumps...”

“I’m fine,” Strike argued. Right then, he heard steps and turned around, throwing his fag to the floor immediately. Linda Ellacott, Robin’s mother, walked to him with a huge grin.

“Hello Cormoran, remember me? I’m Linda, Robin’s mum.”

“Of course! Hello Linda, you look splendid,” he smiled and shook her hand.

“Thank you! I’m so glad you came after all, Robin mentioned your little... altercation. She was so sad about it, she’s going to be so happy to see you. You will come to the reception right?” she added, with motherly concern.

“Yeah... well, I wanted to, if there’s a place for me. I’m so sorry I never RSVP’d...” Linda waved it off.

“Don’t worry about it darling, we reserved you a spot just in case, and I’m sure we can find an extra pair of cutlery for your friend,” she added looking at Shanker with a surprisingly warm smile, having in count Shanker’s appearance. “We had a last minute cancelation, so... we’ll work something out.”

“Oh, ma’am, please, I don’t want to cause trouble, I was just drivin’ my mate here...” Shanker, moved by her kindness and the fact that she was Robin’s mother, smiled with his golden teeth.

“Nonsense, you’re not going all the way home now after all the drive here without sitting down and having some food!” Linda chuckled. “When two fit, three will feet as well. Besides, the brides’ friends always have a seat. Do you know the way there?” Strike and Shanker exchanged looks that said it all. “Oh, that’s alright! My husband and I were just going, follow us!”

Strike and Shanker got in the car and observed how Linda had a small conversation with a short, plump man with short strawberry-blonde and white hair, pointed at then, and both smiled at them. Then the man, that Strike supposed was Robin’s father, Michael, got in a car with her and another young boy that looked like Robin’s younger brother, and they started driving away. Strike and Shanker followed suit.

“Where is this? Is it nice? I don’t have a suit,” Shanker commented as they drove outside Masham.

“Swinton Park... never been,” Strike shrugged. “I don’t think they’re going to care much, just try to look your best so Robin’s... husband...” the name felt like poison in his lips. “Doesn’t get pissed at you. I’m trying to fix things with Robin.”

“Can’t believe you didn’t stop the wedding...” Shanker murmured bitterly. Strike glared at him, and put another cigarette into his mouth. His only consolation was how she had smiled at _him_. “How pretty was she tho?” he asked after a while. Strike took a long inhale from his fag before answering.

“Loads.”


	2. Ya suck at talkin'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The reception and Shanker's advice

Swinton Park consisted of miles and miles of pure green fields around a castle-made-hotel at which Robin and Matthew were to spend their first night as husband-and-wife, a thought that gave Strike unexplainable nausea, and where the party was gathered. The gardens in the closest proximity to the castle were overcrowded with more guests than they were at the small St. Mary’s church, and waiters and waitresses were already walking around with trays of drinks and food.

They followed the Ellacotts to the parking lot and Shanker parked in one of the little free spots left. As they exited the car, Strike took a moment to check Shanker’s appearance.

“Well, hopefully eyes will stay on the bride,” Strike murmured with a light frown. The day was sunny and warm and the Ellacotts quickly approached them to help them around.

“Hi, I’m Michael, it’s so great to finally meet you,” Michael was exuberant and beamed as he shook Strike’s hand. Strike smiled politely.

“It’s my pleasure. This is my friend, Shanker. He’s been nice enough to drive me all the way here,” said Strike trying to put a good face for him so he didn’t come up as scary.

But thankfully, the Ellacotts weren’t very different from their daughter and they didn’t have prejudices; they shook Shanker’s hand with smiles and, as they walked towards the castle, the Ellacotts led the conversation asking about work, the trip, if they were hungry, and how was life in general.

“So Cormoran darling, are you alright? You look quite beaten-up, Robin didn’t mention you got hurt,” said Linda full of motherly concern as they walked hill-up, Strike’s leg making him curse in the inside.

“I’m alright, thank you,” said Strike, warmed-up by her kindness. “We caught the Shacklewell Ripper and he had some things to say about it,” he joked with a little smile. Linda and Michael looked impressed.

“Really? Robin’s going to be so happy to know!” Michael grinned. “Can this day get any better?” he added chuckling at his wife.

“I suppose he won’t be bothering our sweet girl or anyone else ever again, right, Cormoran?” Linda asked Strike. He nodded.

“Hopefully he’ll spend life in prison, after the many women he’s killed,” said Strike. “There’s proof enough; he kept souvenirs from his victims, so he’ll be easily linked with all the women.”

“We’re very grateful to you then,” said Linda with a sincere expression of kindness and glee. “There’s something I’d like to talk to you in private about, if that’s alright?” Strike looked surprised.

“Sure...”

“Boys, why don’t you go on without us? We’ll be right back,” Linda smiled politely at Shanker and Michael. Michael smiled and nodded and Shanker, after seeing Strike nod at him briefly, followed. Then Linda turned to look at Strike and her expression got unusually serious. “Listen, I know I shouldn’t meddle, but one can’t see her daughter be so hurt after losing her job and her friend and not try to help. I don’t know exactly what happened between you two, I’m sure if you fired her you must’ve had good reasons, but can’t you two make-up? She didn’t mean to screw things over, but she’s barely trained and I know she’s not the specially-trained partner you’d want, but she’s intelligent, she’s brave, she learns fast if you teach her, and she’s got a good heart. She’s full of love of her job and passion and wishes nothing but to keep doing her job. So could you try to forgive her? I know it may be asking a lot...” Linda shrugged, and Strike looked at her intently. “But you are her only friend in London. You and that job is all she’s got outside Matthew, and if they’ve got problems again, she should have something to turn to. And if you don’t forgive her for your friendship at least, let me tell you my Robin has always been an excellent student and if you’d only devote a bit more time to explaining things properly and truly training her properly, she’d surprise you, she’d prove to be the best partner you could ever ask for. I’m sure if she knew better, she wouldn’t have made that mistake, but she didn’t know as much and as well as you do, she’s only been in this for a year, she needs a bit more patience, don’t you think? She was only trying her best to do the right thing, she didn’t mean wrong. I know it takes effort on your side, and time, to teach her... but I promise you it’s worth it.”

Linda proved to be full of the same speeches full of logic and heart that her daughter always had up in her sleeve. Strike went to open his mouth to answer, but Linda smiled and raised a hand to stop him.

“Don’t say anything now... just consider it. Robin and Matthew will be here in about half an hour, they have to sign the papers, take some photographs... you have time.”

Linda left and Strike sighed, lighting another fag and flopping to sit on a bench. Shortly after, Shanker joined him and asked what was up, so Strike told him what Linda had said. Now the two sat, smoking, with light frowns of concentration as they remained thoughtful.

“Linda’s right,” Shanker shrugged. “C’me on, don’t be such a grumpy b’stard!” Shanker laughed. “You go so strict, ‘nd girl didn’t know, ‘nd she’s already quite great isn’t she? Look how fast she’s learned! You weren’t even listenin’ to her, so she went and did wha’ she thought was right, ‘nd you never said, ‘don’t do this ‘cause if you do, for these reasons, he could get out free with everythin’ and we’d lose him’, otherwise she wouldn’t have done it! You’re too strict, and she’s ya friend, and she’s nice, yer Robin. Doesn’t deserve yer crap.” Strike nodded tiredly, and sighed.

“I know, I know.” Strike nodded. “Well that’s why I’m here right? I’m going to fix things. Somehow.” Shanker laughed.

“Y’know wha’? Ya ain’t need to pay me for bringin’ ya here.”

The pair went around fetching drinks and food with devotion and trying not to bring much attention upon themselves. Strike’s size and injuries and Shanker’s general appearance didn’t help much, but the Ellacotts came to them kindly informing where their seats would be and at which time lunch would start. It took a while, but the married couple finally arrived in a stunning dark car and Strike and Shanker stood behind as the newlyweds were showered in cheers, hugs, kisses, and quickly trapped in conversation.

“Bunsen,” Shanker murmured, coming back from attending a phone-call. Strike’s eyes remained fixed on Robin. She was stunning. “We’re gonna have to leave soon, I gotta do some business...” Strike nodded.

“Would you mind leaving solo? I’ll grab a train,” said Strike, checking his wallet. He didn’t have much money, but he had for a train if he grabbed food at the wedding for dinner.

“Ya sure, Bunsen? I can wait ‘til you speak to her.”

“Look at her, everyone wants to speak with her. I’m going to have to wait until after lunch...”

“I’ll wait ‘til then, in that case.” Strike suspected he just wanted the food.

The beaming bride and groom presided a round table at the centre of a large room in the castle, and Strike, sitting with Shanker in a boring table, entertained himself with occasionally exchanging smiles with her, pissing Matthew off, not that he cared. Shanker teased him, but Strike didn’t care about that either. It was right after lunch, as Robin and Matthew walked around offering gifts to their guests, that Robin headed for their table and Strike saw his chance, standing up with Shanker.

“There you two are,” Robin smiled, holding a little basket. “Thanks for coming.” She handed them both an elegant fountain pen with an engraving that read ‘M & R, 07-02-2011’. “Enjoying the food?”

“All great, ‘nd congrats! ya look beautiful, Robin,” Shanker smiled with his golden teeth and Robin smiled sweetly.

“Thank you, Shanker.” Strike gulped, suddenly feeling shy. She was just so pretty and smelled so nicely, and Strike hadn’t seen her in _so_ long, so it felt overwhelming. As always, she looked prettier and smelled better than Strike remembered, he wasn’t ready. He felt like a teenager in front of Beyoncé.

“He’s right,” Strike managed to say. Shanker snorted a laugh and sat to give them some privacy. Robin looked at Strike and smiled sweetly, blushing.

“What happened to you?” she asked.

“Laing. He’s in prison and so is Brockbank, thanks to you,” Strike informed. Robin’s smile grew impossibly big and her eyes got bright.

“Really?” her voice had a higher pitch of excitement. Strike nodded.

“How’s your arm?”

“It’s okay,” Robin nodded, looking at the scar for a brief moment. There was an awkward moment of silence and then Strike opened his mouth.

“Listen, Robin, I...”

“Hey Robin!” a loud group of laughing youngsters was approaching and Robin looked apologetically at Strike.

“I’m sorry, I’ve got to...” she pointed at them.

“It’s okay.” Strike nodded.

“Will you stay?” Robin asked, hopeful. Strike looked up at her and found himself unable to say no.

“’Course.”

As Strike flopped down on his seat, Shanker looked at him and raised eyebrows.

“So?” Strike sighed.

“Didn’t have time.” Shanker laughed.

“Ya might be the best detective in London, Bunsen...” Shanker commented. “But ya suck at talkin’.”


	3. Take this sinking boat and point it home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reconciliations and break-ups

Strike couldn’t keep his eyes off the beautiful bride as the first dance proceeded. Matthew had, tensely and too politely and most likely with Robin’s insistence, approached him previously for a handshake, declaring he was ‘happy to see you’, which Strike did not believe, and now, as the couple spiralled though the dance-floor to ‘Your Song’, Matthew made sure to show everyone Robin was _his_ wife, keeping arms around her and sometimes looking at Strike over her shoulder all too smugly, as if saying ‘look how I move, you can’t do this’. Strike, however, contented with looking at Robin, even if he felt an unreasonable urge to strange Matthew.

Shanker was having so much fun seeing Strike’s despair and frustration over the many ruined attempts of a conversation with Robin, that he stayed, and cheered as Strike finally came up with a plan. Five dances on, Strike approached Robin as she stood drinking some champagne and chatting with some friends while a slow song played. One Strike could sort of dance.

“Hi,” Strike said standing behind Robin, who turned and smiled at him. He had needed two cups of champagne and three cups of normal wine to get there. Beer wasn’t being served. “Sorry to interrupt but uh... May I have this dance?” he offered a hand, blushing highly. She looked surprised too, as if she was surely not expecting him to dance.

“Of course!” Robin chuckled and left her cup before taking his hand and letting him guide her into the dance floor, filling with couples dancing slowly to ‘Falling Slowly’. Strike was happy to see Matthew’s glare at them. Robin didn’t comment on his slight limping as she put an arm around his neck and took his hand, Strike putting his arm around her hip. They both blushed and Strike realised this was the closest they had ever been to hugging. They danced in silence and whenStrike swirled her graciously to the words ‘ _Take the sinking boat, and point it home, we’ve still got time’_ , they both giggled. Robin was impressed, which filled Strike’s chest with pride. “Woah, I didn’t know you danced!”

“My mother used to say a boy becomes a man when he knows how to take someone to a true dance,” said Strike with a smile. Robin grinned; it was rare to hear him talk like that about his mother. “She taught me.” He revealed for no reason, feeling drunk on her.

“She sounds like a great woman,” Robin commented.

“She was,” Strike nodded. Then he got serious. “She also taught me good friends don’t stab each other in the back just like that. She would’ve been indignant of the way I’ve treated you, Robin. And so am I.” The words came so unnaturally easily at him and they looked at each other with serious expressions and warm eyes and they swirled around.

“I made a mistake,” Robin murmured. “I deserved you getting furious. I knew I didn’t have your approval and yet I did it. But I’m very sorry for it, Cormoran, I didn’t mean...”

“I know, I know... And... You didn’t deserve me being so unfair, so rough and almost violent at you. I lost my shit when I should’ve explained things calmly to you and taught you like I said I would, not just... refuse to listen, give you my back, and then barge into your house shouting at you like a maniac. I’m very sorry for my behaviour. I didn’t want to scare you.”

“You didn’t,” Robin assured, unsure of whether she believed herself.

“I’m also sorry that after everything we’ve lived together, I made you feel you couldn’t count on your partner until you ended up having no choice but to go to a complete stranger with questionable morals,” Robin chuckled. Strike smiled softly. “I’d understand if you don’t want to come back...”

“Of course I want!” Robin’s enthusiasm made them both giggle. “But I thought you had found a new secretary.”

“I haven’t. And even if I had... it’s not a secretary I’m looking for in you,” said Strike, looking at her as the chorus repeated itself. Her eyes were unusually bright and Strike didn’t know if it was the music or what, but he couldn’t quite shut up. “I miss my friend. I miss my partner. The office sucks without you. And if you come back... I promise you a new contract, where you’re my junior partner, and I promise to try to be the best teacher and the best friend I can be.” Robin grinned, a tear threatening to spill. She took a shaky breath. “You know what’s to cry for? My bank account. I’m going to need you if we want to get the agency back on its feet, you’ve always been its lucky Trevor. The office needs you. I need you. So what do you say?” They stopped danced and fixed their eyes on each other, and then Robin jumped to his arms and hugged him tight. Strike heard her laugh and cry at once and he, shocked, grinned and squeezed her back, letting the flowers sink in his nostrils. He felt so happy, suddenly. “That a yes?” he asked as they pulled back and the next song started.” Robin nodded, rubbing her tears away and giggling. For one second, as the music had reached its peak, Strike had had the stupid thought that it was a nice Kairos moment.

“Thank you, thank you! You won’t regret it!”

“I know, I only worry you will regret it!” they giggled together. Strike felt drunk and her lips looked so tempting... and he had a girlfriend. Elin. Shit.

“But partners means partners, alright? No more pushing me away when things get dangerous and...” Robin pressed a finger against his chest. “Can we put in the contract also that... friendship before partnership?” Strike looked surprised at her, and she blushed hard. “I don’t want our job to jeopardise our friendship. Whatever disagreement we have at work, stays at work, and then we go and drink some pints and forget about it. Your friendship matters to me more than the job.” Strike felt ridiculously touched.

“Deal.” They shook hands and smiled. “I’ve got to go now but, I’ll have the contract ready for when you come back from the honeymoon. Two weeks, right?”

“Right,” Robin chuckled. “Thank you for coming and... everything.” Strike shook his head.

“Thank you for sticking with this big, stupid bastard,” Strike grinned at her, which hurt a little. Robin grinned back. “Have fun, okay?”

“You too. And take care of yourself, for God’s sakes!” They both giggled and Strike nodded. He really felt drunk despite the little he had drunk, next to his usual. Was this happy-drunk?

“Oh and, Robin... I know I said in the message that I wouldn’t insist but... hope you’re not mad I did,” he smiled apologetically. To his surprise, Robin looked surprised.

“What are you talking about?” Robin asked, visibly confused. They were walking outside the dance floor to give the youngsters room for the big dancing.

“My voicemail, the one I left you. I know I said if you didn’t call me, I would let you be, but I just couldn’t...” Strike left the sentence in the air, hoping she’d understand, but she just looked more confused.

“When did you leave me a voicemail?” she asked.

“Uh...” Strike frowned lightly, thoughtful. Around them it was starting to get very loud with the partying. “You must’ve been on your way here, I believe? It wasn’t long after firing you.” Robin nodded slowly, thoughtful. “Why? You heard it, right?”

“Actually, no,” said Robin. “I didn’t see you had called me or anything...” she shrugged apologetically.

“Oh, that’s strange,” Strike looked focused. “I called you a few times. Perhaps I caught you driving through a tunnel or in the metro or something.” He shrugged and smiled. They both knew if that had happened she’d still have a record, but none wanted to think of the possible dirty explanations. “Well, I’ll be heading out then. I’ll see you in a couple weeks?”

“Sure. Be safe!”

“You too,” Strike smiled at her, and headed out to look for Shanker and go home.

As the two men walked down the hill towards the parking lot, Strike felt both sad and happy at once, and he frowned to himself. On impulse, as they reached the fence, he turned around, and smiled seeing Robin at the top of the hill, smiling down at them, waving goodbye. He waved back with a smile. Those two weeks would be very, very long without her.

**. . .**

By the time Shanker parked in Denmark Street, they were both pretty exhausted. Strike thanked Shanker profoundly, even more having in count that Shanker rarely –if ever- did something entirely for free, and limped his way inside the flat, thinking of eating some of the food they had snatched from the wedding in napkins in their pockets while sitting in his boxers, leg-free, watching a football match. However, he had only just been in the office for five minutes to fetch his pain medication and make sure everything was in order, checking the mail, when someone knocked on the door. Frowning, Strike checked his watch and saw it was past ten at night, not an hour to receive clients.

“We’re closed, come back tomorrow!” Strike growled towards the door.

“It’s Elin!” Strike’s stomach sank. He had to break up with her, what was she even doing here? he should’ve broken up with her sooner, not now that she probably was looking forward to shag him. Strike sighed and opened the door, and Elin’s eyes widened at his appearance. “Oh my God, are you okay? What happened?”

“I’m alright. It was just... work. Arresting the Shacklewell Ripper.” Strike said tiredly, moving to let her in. Elin nodded, looking around at the dimly light, the mail being opened on the desk that usually belonged to Robin. Right when he was about to go back to his work, Strike remembered it _was Elin_ , so he turned around and kissed her briefly on the cheek. “It’s nice to see you,” he lied. “What are you doing here so late?”

“I called you,” said Elin. She was gorgeous, and Strike figured if he wasn’t so tired and battered, it’d be a nice fuck to end the day, but she didn’t spark any interest in him anymore, aside from sex. And Strike wasn’t willing to do that. “You weren’t picking up, I thought you’d be working. After the disaster at the restaurant... I was pretty pissed off. You said you’d call, and you never did. You ruin my dress, disappear... what a boyfriend, you know? Until I decided instead of sitting alone at home thinking and thinking of the shit you are, I should come and tell you to the face.” Strike sighed, looking around and facing her. It would be so easy, he thought, to just let her break up with her, by being an absolute dick, but she deserved better.

“I’m very sorry, Elin. You’re right, I ruined your dress, and I apologize, I was in a hurry because of something with the police and work and...” he sighed again, looking apologetic. “Look, my life is very complicated. My job takes most of my days, and I love it, I wouldn’t change a thing, but it also entitles a life of risks, danger, and sometimes... disregarding people in my life. So I’m also sorry I never called back and... Shit, I know you had interest on us becoming more serious, but truth is, Elin, I can’t do that. I’m not in love with you, and I am not ready for a serious relationship right now, even less when there’s a little girl in the middle whose life I don’t want to impact negatively. I want to break things up with you. And I think at this point, it’s probably what you want too, right?” Elin scowled and looked down. Strike worried she was going to cry.

“I’m pissed, but I wasn’t about to... I wanted to fix things!” Elin looked at him frustrated. Strike nodded, stepping forward and putting a hand on her shoulder, awkwardly.

“There’s nothing to fix. You’re a wonderful girl, and things with you have been great, I really do like you. I had fun with you. I just... my life just got even more complicated now than it already was, and if before I would have troubles committing into something serious I’m not ready for, and making time for you, now... I’m almost bankrupt. My office needs me more than ever. I can’t be distracted or I’ll wind up in the street,” he smiled bittersweet. “We both know I was never right for you. You deserve a man that is looking for commitment and with whom you truly connect. We were good friends, and trying for something more was interesting but... I don’t feel it’s going to work. I don’t think we would’ve been happy in the long run, you’ve already started getting frustrated with all the motive, and better end things now when we’re not that deep into it, than getting more hurt later, right?” Elin sighed, her eyes teary.

“I guess you’re right. We don’t quite fit... hundred per cent.” Strike nodded. “I just... there isn’t someone else, right? Because I don’t want to be chea...”

“No, no,” Strike interrupted. “That is something I could never do, I guarantee. I hate cheaters, I was cheated on. Besides, I can hardly manage one woman, let alone two, right?” Elin snorted a laugh and rubbed her eyes.

“Well, thanks for the fun, Cormoran. Friends?” she added, offering him a hand to shake.

“Friends,” he shook her hand and offered a small smile. “I hope you find the right man for you and your daughter, Elin.” Elin nodded.

“I hope you find someone right too,” she added, looking around. “Well, I’ll leave then. Take care.”

“You too, careful on the way back...” Strike was already turning to his mail again.

When the door closed, he looked back and sighed, hearing Elin’s steps on the stairs. He didn’t really give a shit about what happened in Elin’s life, but he was going to miss her company and the distractions she brought into his life. However, he had more integrity than letting her believe he cared deeply for her, when all she was, was a nice body to fuck.


	4. Welcome back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the honeymoon, a surprise awaits for Robin at the office.
> 
> [A/N: This story is finished and I'm already halfway into the second part. Comments make me remember to post updates, otherwise I just spend the day writing ;)]

“So she comes back tomorrow?” Ilsa asked, standing next to Strike and filling his plate with homemade pesto, then her husband’s. Nick, sitting across Strike, cut bread and cheese for them all as he listened to them.

“She texted me an hour ago that she was already in London, so yes, she’ll be back in the office in the morning,” confirmed Strike, his hands busy grabbing the fork and getting food into his guts. He felt he was starving.

Strike had spent the majority of two weeks thrown into work, barely seeing the sunlight except when it was about surveillance, getting a couple new clients and starting to try and make enough money to stay afloat. Thankfully, Wardle, in a press conference, had talked nicely about Strike and brought clients rolling back.

Ilsa hummed affirmatively and sat in her place, Strike taking a sip of Tennent’s as his best girl friend for the past thirty years eyed him intently.

“Nick heard Elin is dating someone else,” Ilsa commented in-between bites. Nick hummed and nodded.

“Good for her,” said Strike, stuffing his mouth with more pesto and moaning at the taste. It was just so good. “This is good, Nick.”

“Thanks,” said the cooker, with a smile. “So how was the honeymoon, did Robin say?”

“I haven’t heard a word from her in two weeks, so I suppose it went well. She only called me yesterday to make sure all was good for tomorrow, said they went to Cephalonia, Greece, and that it was, I quote ‘nice’, which doesn’t seem too enthusiastic.”

“I hate to disregard her judgement, because she’s a very nice woman,” said Ilsa rolling eyes. “But I seriously don’t understand how she marries him. Anyone could tell Robin seeks adventure, action, excitement out of life... not... an accountant.” Nick sniggered.

“It’s her business,” said Strike with a shrug. “At least Matthew isn’t as crazy as Charlotte.”

“I doubt anyone is,” Nick chuckled. Ilsa smiled at her husband.

“You and Robin, on the contraire, would make a cute couple,” added Ilsa, bravely. Strike choked on his food and coughed, looking at her with a scowl. “What?” Ilsa patted his back. “You are both obsessed for the same job, you understand your job, you have fun together going around catching criminals, and somehow, she still hasn’t gone nuts with you.” Nick cackled and Ilsa chortled. Strike glared at them both.

“Yeah, of course, let’s date Robin!” said Strike histrionically enthusiastic and full of sarcasm. “We’d make the perfect couple, a wonderful, young lady, with an old dinosaur like me. I’m ten years older, for Christ’s sakes, I was a teenager with beginnings of stubble when she was just a cheeky little baby. When I lost my virginity, she barely knew what sex was about,” his friends only laughed harder, and he started giggling too, amused. “Can you imagine? If we got married she’d get to take care of my old fat ass as I drift to death all old and ugly while she’s ten years younger and can still find someone else. We’d fight all the time, we’re so different, I mean... I’m a southern, she’s a northern. I like the Arsenal, she prefers... horses. Horses! Who trusts bloody horses? Robin, of course, she’d trust anyone...” he chuckled as the married couple laughed. Slowly, they calmed back down and Strike looked intently at his beer. “Yeah... We’d suck together. And the agency would sink.”

“Or...” Nick shrugged. “You could be like many surgeons friends of mine.”

“What d’you mean?” Strike looked at him with a light frown of confusion.

“Well, you know how surgeons really don’t have much time to courtship anyone outside of work, so most of them are with fellow surgeons and, for what my friends say, no one else understands the hardships of their life and job like a fellow surgeon,” explained Nick. “I’ve got friends who get to do what they love to do the most with the person they love the most, performing surgeries together, laughing, having fun... They’re passionate about the same things, you see them talk all passionately about surgery and things like that, and it seems it brings them closer. They become fascinated by how good the other is at what they do, and they get to share work, help each other, have fascinating discussions about their cases, like Robin and you do, only that you’re not together. I can imagine that, if you were together, you’d get to spend every day doing what you love with your favourite person, right? And you’ve mention how well she gets you, how comfortable you are around each other and how easily your relationship happens. She doesn’t push you too much out of your comfort zone or forces you much to talk when you don’t want to, but she knows exactly what to do when you’re doing without pissing you off or hurting you further, things we needed like twenty years to learn. And you’re a man she can trust, someone she finds fascinating, right? Don’t you like her a little further when you see how passionate she is at the job and how good she is? Come on, we see how you look at her when you two discuss cases together, you’re just in your own bubble... and you’ve mentioned how happy she seems when she can stay working a bit further or go out on adventure with you. I don’t think it’s just ‘cause her marriage had some big downs. I think neither of you realises how great you could be and settle with what you settle with because it’s the easiest option, because what if work gets ruined, or friendship...” Nick shrugged. “Well I’m glad I was never really just friends with Ilsa. If I had let her marry that dude, my life would’ve sucked and we would’ve ended up settling with a nice life, yeah, but not a perfect one like it is now. Perhaps yes, you try and things go downhill and it’s hell but... at least you tried. How are you going to live with yourself, never knowing what could’ve been because you were too scared? One would’ve thought being Leda’s son, you’d know how to take some advantage of life uh?”

They stared at each other in shocked silence for a moment, assimilating Nick’s sudden reflexion, until Ilsa, who had been staring at Nick, her plate forgotten, as if he put the moon in the sky, reacted, her eyes bright.

“Gosh...” Ilsa grinned holding Nick’s hand over the table and leaning to kiss him softly. “You perfect, perfect man...” she cupped his face kissing him between words. Nick smiled against her lips. Strike looked at them intently, but he wasn’t actually looking at them, but lost in thought as Nick’s words reverberated inside his brain. He couldn’t pretend he didn’t love spending time with Robin, and everyone had seen something between them, even Matthew, so there must be something. When he finally came down to Earth, Ilsa and Nick were looking at him with soft eyes. “You know, Corm... Nick does have a point. And thinking about it, why do you think Robin’s husband gets so pissed off? He sees what we all do, how much you and Robin connect not just at work, but at the pub when you take drinks, or here when she’s come... He sees Robin can only be fully happy when you put your part in the job, and feels threatened he can never make her fully happy because he doesn’t understand nor likes a whole side of her.”

Strike looked at them both with incredulity.

“When did you two become psychologists?” the Herberts giggled and Strike shook his head. “It doesn’t matter though, any of it,” he continued to eat. “Robin is married, not engaged like Ilsa was, she’s signed ‘the contract’ and she doesn’t like me like that, so even if I felt something, which I don’t...”

“Oh, come on, she sure is interested in you, she just forbids herself to confess it to herself because she’s married!” Ilsa argued.

“And people can change their minds, your mother divorced in like two seconds the first time, right? If you show her what she’s missing, perhaps she’ll realise too.” Nick added. Strike sighed, getting frustrated.

“Why ruin her life with a divorce and risking her job, when she can just have both?”

“Why be half happy when you could be hundred percent happy?” argued Ilsa, relentless as always.

Strike left the Herberts’ house after desert, grumpy, with his hands in his pockets and a sullen expression. Did he really feel so much for Robin? Did it really matter? Was it worth it, even? And, in any case, could she ever feel similarly towards him? Those were questions that made Strike dizzy, and he soon discarded them, got in the tube, and tried to think of something else, anything, but his thoughts, unavoidably, kept drifting back to Robin.

In the morning, he got up unnecessarily early and decided to make the day special for Robin, start their new relationship great with a bang, show her that she meant a lot for the agency and himself and was not just ‘his secretary’, as she had always demanded. He put the new contract open on his desk, next to his new fountain pen so she’d see he was appreciating it –even though he’d rarely use it- and he made a point on having extra Yorkshire tea and buying biscuits and flowers, putting a small plate with some biscuits next to the contract. He cleaned around then, and made sure everything was perfect, topping things with buying a wide band of shinny blue fabric and, with a permanent pen, writing on it ‘Welcome back, Robin!’ and hanging it with tape from the ceiling by the front door. Then he stood around, nervously waiting for Robin. He had cancelled all morning appointments to make sure her first day back was to catch up with their two clients –he felt extra proud of himself for having managed to get two clients brand new for Robin, as if he had gotten two kilos of gourmet food for a dog- and celebrate their new contract.

At a quarter to nine, Strike was just putting a mug of Yorkshire tea next to the biscuits and the contract on his desk when he finally heard the distinctive steps of Robin on the stairs –not too loud because she wasn’t that heavy, but firm and precise, a bit too quick- and he stood by the kitchenette, his exes fixed on the entry. He saw the colour of Robin’s hair as a blurry figure behind the glass door, and noticed how she stopped for a moment in front of the door, taking a breath, which made him smile a little. She was just so soft and sweet sometimes, being nervous for seeing him again... Hell, so was he. Strike took the bouquet of flowers in his arms and, just when Robin was about to open the door, he opened it for her.

For one second, both seemed to lose their breaths, registering what they were looking at. Robin, once again, surprised Strike with her extraordinary beauty, looking a bit more tanned, slightly burnt on the forehead, cheeks and nose, and her hair loose and wavier. Strike’s wounds had already healed-up. They stared at each other in the eyes, in silence, shocked for a moment, before Strike smiled, which rubbed on Robin, as she also noticed the flowers, and her smile grew bigger.

“Welcome back, Robin,” Strike breathed out, handing her the flowers and moving aside to let her inside. “This time you won’t find the royal mess you found the first time.” Strike added with a nervous chuckle as he observed her back, closing the door behind her.

Robin seized the bouquet –pretty enormous and full of expensive roses- and saw it had a card. Robin took it and read it: ‘Congrats. You made it. –C’. It instantly brought tears to her eyes, and, as she looked up and around, seeing the band hanging from the ceiling, how neat and organised everything was, smelling of tea, biscuits and cleaning product, she felt oddly emotional, and turned around to face Strike with a beaming smile.

“Thank you,” she said, emotional. “I... I wasn’t expecting this.” She added with a nervous giggle. Strike grinned.

“Let me grab your coat and you pass inside, I think you’re dying to see what’s inside, right?” Robin had forgotten what he could possibly be talking about, but smiled as Strike, so politely, took her coat off her so she didn’t have to manoeuvre too much with the bouquet, and while he stayed behind to hang it, she walked inside the inner office. When Strike came in, Robin was looking down at the contract on the paper with a small smile, her lips pressed together and curved upwards slightly. Strike motioned for her to sit down on the chair usually reserved for clients and Robin did so, looking surprised at the tea and biscuits. “That’s for you,” Strike indicated motioning for those things, as he took his seat and leaned back. “So... I had Ilsa look over at the contract, she thought it was all in order but you’re free to take it home, reread it a hundred times, make your own suggestions and additions...” Strike shrugged. “Anything. And when you’re ready, you sign it.”

“But Cormoran,” Robin was a fast reader and, while listening to him and taking a sip of warm, nice Yorkshire tea, she had already read the first page. “This includes a pay rise, I think? Says that taking away from our income the part that’s for the office’s expenses, the rest will be fifty-fifty between you and I, which is around 24% of our monthly income... that has to be wrong. You’re not only my senior, but also the founder, the owner, and... well, we’re two salaries in my flat, but you have to live on one,” Robin blushed slightly and Strike nodded with a satisfied expression. “It wouldn’t be fair on you...”

“It’s the fairest thing, why not?” Strike smiled bright at her astonishment. “Robin, you work so hard here. You clean around, fetch food, organise things, receive clients, do secretary tasks, assistant tasks, partner tasks, deal with people when they get emotional and I’m too brusque to deal with it, wake me up when I fall asleep, pick up, read and filtrate the mail and the email...” Strike enumerated. Robin’s eyes got teary again at seeing how he noticed everything and valued her. Strike snorted. “Believe me, that,” he pointed at the contract, “is less than what you deserve, but unfortunately, I need to live, as you made the point, and I need fifty percent of what’s left for you and I for that. I think, with how our incomes have been, once we get more than the two clients we’ve got and have the business more afloat, if we’re making what I expect us to be making based on how things were before Laing, and I admit I’ve been optimistic doing the math, I estimate we’ll make enough to have a semi-decent salary, all three of us. A bit less than 50% is for you and me, and the other fifty-something will be divided between the secretary and the office. Look, no one’s going to be making tons of money, but I think you’re better than how you were, right? Even if it’s just for a little bit?” Strike looked hopeful. He had been very drunk and optimistic when doing the math.

“That’d be absolutely perfect, Cormoran, you know I’m happy with my income as little as it is, I’m not here for the money...” Robin rushed to say.

“I know,” Strike nodded. “But otherwise I’d keep feeling guilty... And of course, right now, we won’t be making this much really, but I want to get here in say, a month, when we have our feet on the ground, okay? gradually, so we don’t go broke,” he smiled. “And I intend to rise-up. I intend for you to become a full partner and be capable of taking about as many clients as myself in one month, each our own cases, we consult each other anything we need, try to make decisions together. It’ll get a little hectic, but we’d be capable of taking so many clients Robin, so many, we could end up making good money here, and I know what matters is that we love our jobs, but excuse me if not having to worry about making it to the end of the month makes me thrilled.” Strike laughed a little. Robin giggled.

“Look at you, talking like a complete business man!” Robin guffawed, looking at him cheerfully. “Well I know we never talk about money but... this... this is really nice and uh... God, I promise I’ll try my very best to meet the expectations so we can get this business going without having to stress about money so much anymore, right?”

“I know you will, no pressure, but I think you’ll exceed the expectations,” said Strike with a chuckle. He felt like drunk. For the first time in his life, he had a real good feeling that their business was going to march incredibly well from then on. Robin smiled and kept reading the contract. After a few minutes of silence only interrupted by the passing of pages, the clattering of the mug against the table, the sipping sounds and the munching sounds, Robin looked up with a light frown.

“Do you think I’m ready for this?” Robin asked with concern. Strike looked seriously at her. “I’ve never managed a case all on my own, and now, managing like ten per month or around that, all on my own... I don’t know...” Strike looked softly at her.

“Robin, don’t you worry, you’re never alone. You have me and our secretary and like I said, this is going to be gradual. You will continue assisting me, learning on the job, then slowly, you can start taking alone any case you see yourself suited for, under your own judgement, take the easy ones for example. It doesn’t mean you’ll be all alone either, it just means you take the lead and I merely assist you. We will probably have to work more hours, and maybe even start having small meetings weekly to catch up, see what the other’s doing, put our cases together... but it’s not going to happen in one day, we’ll go slowly, and the moment we feel is too much, we take a step back, and that’s fine. That, I learnt from you,” he smiled softly at her. She smiled confidently in return, and nodded.

As Robin read and finished the biscuits, her smile grew bigger and bigger, seeing on paper Strike compromised to devote himself to teaching and fully forming Robin as a detective. She was about to receive an express course of Strike’s many years of experience.

“Well, then I guess I’m signing, can’t really say no to such generous offer, right?” Robin raised the pen, looking surprised and amused at the pen, seeing it was from her wedding.

“Come on, sign and we can go to the pub and celebrate!” said Strike cheerfully. Robin enthusiastically signed the paper, and Strike signed next. “There you go!” They shook hands full of enthusiasm.

“Thank you so much, Cormoran... You... This means the world to me,” said Robin, on the verge of tears again. She felt like hugging him, but she restrained, remembering how he was about those things.

“Thank you, Robin. I was very lucky the day you came around,” said Strike, surprising himself with the sentimentalism and his brutal honesty, but he knew Robin loved when he opened-up, and as he expected, he got a pretty smile in return, which warmed-up his insides. “Now, before we go, I have one last surprise.”

“Oh, come on, this is better than Christmas,” Robin giggled, finishing her tea as she stood up and gulping the last biscuit. Strike motioned for her to follow to the door of the inner office, looking to the inside, and he pointed with his hands towards his desk.

“Do you think, if we move my desk a little to the side...” Strike looked at her intently. “We could fit another desk in there, for you? With like... a room divider in the middle, perhaps?” Robin’s jaw fell and she covered her mouth with one hand, her eyes, all teary, looking at him in disbelief, widening. It wasn’t that she was getting a new office, it was the idea of what that meant what struck Robin and made her emotional, because it meant a full compromise; Strike was making them equals in every single way he could.

“Are you serious?!” she squealed, making him snicker.

“Of course! Unless you prefer the other room, but I think at some point we’ll have to free it for our secretary, right? You are a Private Investigator now, so...” Robin drowned a sob, covering her mouth. Calling her Private Investigator was the last straw and she couldn’t hold the tears back any longer, two streaming down quickly. “Come on, don’t cry! I haven’t even shown you the new lettering yet...” Strike giggled a little. He felt a little overwhelmed too, if he was over. If he had known she’d be so, so happy, he would’ve done all of that way sooner.

“What new lettering?” Robin hiccupped, taking a deep breath to hold herself together. Strike chuckled and, excitedly, rushed to one of his filing cabinets, pulling out a large envelope, that he opened, showing Robin several plastic pages with new stickers for the door. There was the ‘&’ symbol, a lonely ‘s’, and there it was, ‘R. V. Cunliffe’. Robin wasn’t even expecting her married name there, and she had no words, so she started sniffling and silently sobbing. “Robin, if you keep crying I’m going to panic.” Strike joked lightly. Robin shook her head, rubbing her eyes. She chocked a sob as she stared at the stickers in her hands. Strike started to sense things were deeper than he imagined, and stood in silence, giving her time to pull herself together and talk if she felt like it.

“When I was eight,” said Robin after a few minutes, taking a deep, shaky, breath, “my brothers used to mock me because I was always saying one day I’d be catching bad guys for a living. Everyone thought it was just kids stuff, but when I was a teenager, I was all into criminal investigation.” She looked at Strike, serious and emotional. Strike looked attentively at her. “When I went to University, I thought perhaps I could be a forensic psychologist, because it paid pretty nicely and I’ve always enjoyed psychology, but what truly interested me, where I truly wanted to get at some point, was being a detective. That’s been my dream, always, in the depths of everything. And then, things went downhill and I lost myself, my life, my boyfriend started cheating on me, and I couldn’t leave my house and...” she rubbed a tear more away. “I forgot about stupid childish dreams, you know? Before I met you, I was convincing myself that perhaps a boring job in human resources would be satisfying enough but... this is what I truly love. This is my dream. And it’s become true, after all... despite everything... And, on top of it all, it comes with a great city, a nice flat, and a wonderful husband so... I can’t believe this is for real.” Strike smiled wide at her. She smiled tearfully. “Thank you, Cormoran, truly. My life is perfect because of you.” She added, managing another sob. Strike was speechless, and the words Nick and Ilsa had said, kept coming back to him.


	5. Promotion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nick and Ilsa share exciting news and Robin's happy news aren't well-received home.

Once Robin had calmed down and before going out for lunch and drinks, Strike and Robin decided to change the door lettering. He insisted that Robin’s name came first ‘we wouldn’t be this successful without you, come on’ and he moved his own name lower to leave room. He added the ‘s’ in ‘Private Investigator’ to make it plural, and the ‘&’ symbol above his name, and then moved aside so Robin could put her name. It was difficult and it took several attempts, but finally, Robin’s name was perfectly well put above Strike’s and they stood in front of it, smiling.

After a few seconds, Robin turned around to look at him, beaming, and Strike found himself petrified, transfixed as he looked back at her and for some reason, his heart skipped a beat. Her eyes were still tearful, she had never looked so happy, and her cheeks were pink. And then, without warning, she jumped to his arms, squeezing him in a tight hug. Strike’s eyes widened and he tensed at first, but then he smiled, pressing his nose to her hair as the flowered scent filled his lungs, and smiling as he wrapped his arms around her. Robin was repeating thanks to his ear and Strike felt he was the lucky one.

“Come on,” Robin grinned, pulling apart. “Let’s celebrate!” Strike couldn’t do more than nod and follow her downstairs, Robin’s key clattering happily back in her hand.

They walked cheerfully to the Tottenham and Strike invited to a round, convincing Robin to try ‘Doom Bar’, which taste she found surprisingly great. At first, they were discussing Robin’s holiday in Cephalonia, which Strike enjoyed, despite including too much Matthew talking, because he loved to see the obvious excitement in her eyes and hear it in the voice he had missed way more than he expected. Halfway into their first dish, Strike told her about their new clients; Anthony Matheson, the boss of a videogame company, who wanted for them to investigate one of his employees, who, he suspected, was stealing money at one of the stores the videogame company had of their products. The other client was Larissa Kylor-Jones, a divorced woman who thought her ex-husband was violent around their two little children when he had his turn with them.

“I was thinking you could introduce in the company, pretend to be an employer, and I could take care of the jackass father,” said Strike, stuffing a bunch of fried potatoes into his mouth. “Y’know, ‘cause...” he gulped. “You’re less recognizable than I am, now that my face is on the papers everywhere, and besides, I was thinking, the employee is a dude, so perhaps he’ll try to flirt with you and that will make him vulnerable for you to observe him better, right?”

“Right,” Robin nodded, looking focused. “When are we going to get the secretary though? Because someone will need to be at the office to receive new clients.”

“I already put an advert on the newspapers, so it should be coming soon,” said Strike. “I guess in the meantime we can take turns? I can only do mine when is the father’s turn with the children, which is two weeks per month, so... we’ll probably have a secretary before my turn comes, I can stay in the office while you go have the real fun.” He smiled amused and she chuckled.

“Great!” Robin gulped her food and raised her glass of Doom Bar. “Here’s to us and our splendid agency.” She offered with a smile. Strike happily raised his glass.

“May tomorrow smile at us as much as today has done,” he added, pretending not to notice the shinning new golden band next to the sapphire in her finger.

They left the pub hours later and started distractedly walking around second-hand furniture shops, not really thinking of buying anything right then, but with curiosity. However, when Robin discovered a good, wooden desk, at half prize just because it was a little bumped, she couldn’t help but buy it on the spot.

“Come on, we’re not going to find a snip like this!” Robin told Strike as he grumbled about how it wasn’t right to buy something on the first impression. “What matter’s what’s inside, Cormoran.” She added, mocking him, as she picked a pair of chairs to go along. After agreeing with the seller on an hour to leave the furniture at their office in the morning, Strike walked Robin to the tube, as it was getting late. “You don’t need to walk me around, you know? Laing’s in prison.”

“Yes, but,” Strike shrugged, blushing hard, which surprised Robin. “I like spending time with you.”

“Oh God,” Robin laughed. “Are you drunk or sick? You’ve been incredibly open today.”

“You like it when I open-up,” he said matter-of-factly, giving her a meaningful look that, for some reason, made her blush hard too. They stopped at the tube station. “Here we are.” Strike said, standing in front of her, nervously looking at her. Robin nodded and bit her inferior lip for one moment, which unexplainably made Strike want to kiss her.

“Yeah...” they stared at each other for a beat too-long and then Robin cleared her throat and turned around. “Well, better go, Matt must be impatient to hear about my first day back,” she highly doubted it, and so did Strike. “See you tomorrow!”

“Take care!” Strike waved at her and she waved back. He found himself nailed on the spot until way past the point at which Robin had left.

Noticing, Strike cleared his throat, and walked away into the night. Suddenly, he noticed his leg was hurting again. He hadn’t walked two steps when his phone buzzed and, expecting Robin, he attended it super fast. Instead, however, was Ilsa. ‘Nick and I BOTH got PROMOTED BIG today, so we’re having drinks and dinner at The Ivy Chelsea Garden. You’re coming yes or yes, see you there in an hour, we’re inviting! xoxoxo’. Strike raised his eyebrows and chuckled. What were the odds all his best friends in London got promoted at once, Robin included?

Strike made sure to rush a little, despite his leg, to his attic, so he could take a quick shower and change into his best suit. Not every day the Herberts invited him out for dinner at an expensive restaurant and he was going to make the most of it. His day couldn’t possibly be improved, everything was perfect, ideal. Besides, his best friends never made him feel like the third wheel.

He made it to the restaurant fifteen minutes late, but his friends greeted him at the table effusively and didn’t even mention it. They seemed unable to stop smiling.

“So what are these promotions about?” Strike asked as he sat down. “I mean, I didn’t think a gastroenterologist and a lawyer could get promoted like, to what? Chief of department and chief of the law firm...?” he asked, curious. Ilsa and Nick exchanged a beaming smile and Nick put an arm around Ilsa’s shoulders as they looked at Strike, who looked at them.

“We got promoted to parents, Oggy,” said Nick all emotional. Strike’s jaw fell.

“I’m five months pregnant today!” Ilsa squealed. Strike’s eyes widened and he chuckled.

“What? No way! I would’ve noticed!”

“I’m not showing much,” Ilsa admitted. “But look!” she stood up and pressed her hand against her belly, showing the curve. Strike then noticed a significant curve in her belly, and she had taken up a few pounds, but he hadn’t given it a second thought; thirty years next to her, he wasn’t ogling her precisely. She was so excited, and Strike got up and hugged her.

“Congratulations,” said Strike, also hugging Nick. He was, in one side, sad, because he was afraid of how much life would change and worried he wouldn’t see his friends so much anymore –staying at their house was, from then on, discarded- or that they would get disappointed by his poor uncle abilities.

“It also means you got promoted to Uncle Corm again _and_ ,” Nick smiled at his wife. “Godfather!”

“Oh, well, thanks,” Strike didn’t quite know how to react. They had been trying for so long, he hadn’t thought the moment would come just like that. “So, five months? Why didn’t you say sooner?”

“We wanted to wait until it was more certain. Today we went to the doctor again and she confirmed everything is perfect, we heard the heartbeats and everything,” Ilsa was starting to get emotional, Strike saw it in her eyes just like he had seen it in Robin’s. “We never told anyone but our parents, but, ten years ago, I miscarried at two months, I almost died and it was pretty terrible,” Strike paled and he looked at her all serious.

“Wh...?”

“You were in Germany,” interrupted Ilsa, biting her lip. “We didn’t want to talk about it and we didn’t want to worry you, because there was nothing you could do from there, right? So I was in the hospital a couple weeks, and sent home and then we just, tried to forget about it and never mention it again, there was no need.”

“That’s why it was freaking difficult to have a child from then on, things wouldn’t work, we tried everything,” said Nick. Strike, who had known only bits of it, frowned lightly. He felt terrible for the hell his best friends had gone through without telling him a thing, wishing he would’ve been more attentive. “This time, we didn’t want to even believe it ourselves until it was practically for sure it’d be alright, so we decided to wait the first five months, we honestly thought you’d notice in a matter of days.” He and Ilsa giggled nervously, holding hands over the table.

“Well uh...” Strike let out a breath he didn’t realise he was holding. “You deserve it guys. Your kid is very lucky they got the wonderful parents they got.” His friends beamed.

“Kids,” corrected Nick.

“Well, yeah, I guess now the next will come easier...”

“No, Oggy,” Ilsa chuckled. “I’m pregnant with triplets. A boy and two girls.” Strike looked stunned at them, completely perplexed, and Ilsa had a nervous laugh. “Fertilisation methods often create multiple pregnancies, and there are some twins in Nick’s family so... we kind of expected it.”

“Holly sh...” Strike blurted. Ilsa pressed her hand against his mouth and the last two words were pressed against her palm. “You guys!” Strike guffawed, he was so stunned he couldn’t do but laugh. The day was just unbelievable, first Robin, then this... he suddenly couldn’t stop laughing, which made Ilsa and Nick laugh. “You’re going to be the parents of those twins every classroom’s got, Christ!” Strike managed between laughs. “You’re going broke, you know it right?” he laughed.

The three friends laughed it off and then enjoyed a fantastic dinner mocking and joking about the triplets, inventing silly names and jokingly discussing how many walls they’d have to throw away in their house to make space. Afterwards, Strike felt drunk and euphoric, which only made him feel even drunker, as Ilsa drove them first to drop Strike off, and then they went off to Wandsworth. Strike had a smile plastered in his face, and then he reached the last flight of stairs, no longer feeling his leg, and his smile vanished.

There, sitting on the top of the stairs with a holdall and a tear-stained face, was Robin.


	6. Leaving Matthew

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ...and getting comforted by a Cornish giant

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, sorry for the lack of posting, my summer's hectic and I just got a wrist injury and using the computer has gotten a little tricky.

“Jesus, Robin...” Strike frowned, flopping next to her. She let out a sob, her face hidden in her hands. “What’s wrong?” he asked softly. She started crying harder, as if his question just provoked more suffering. Strike felt like stabbed inside. Never, not even when she had found out Matthew was cheating on her, had she cried so tragically, made such strangled, escalading, loud sounds, so sad, so broken, so miserable. Strike couldn’t do more than putting his arms around her and letting her cry against his chest. He pressed his cheek against the top of her head and caressed her hair softly. “Tell me what’s wrong, Robin... Tell me and whatever it is, I promise you I will fix it.” He said softly. He fully meant it. Whoever was causing her so much pain would be dead before the sun rose. She cried harder, his chest damp from her tears, and he squeezed her tighter. Strike started feeling anxious and anguished inside and then it occurred to him, to try and look for Robin’s ring. There, in her hand on his knee, was an empty space where the two rings should’ve been. “Let’s come inside Robin, I’ll make you tea and dinner and you can take my bed.” Said Strike on impromptu.

When Strike felt Robin was just lying on him in exhaustion, he helped her to her feet and, despite his leg, this time he served as her cane just as she had been for him in the past, and helped her towards his bed, sitting her down. He quickly turned to get her stuff.

“Just lie down, I’m going to get your holdall.” Strike went back to the stairs, took the holdall, coming back inside. He turned around and froze. Robin was lying on his bed, propelled-up on his pair of pillows, looking absolutely broken, pale and the most miserable he had ever seen her. But what made him freeze was the bruise around Robin’s left eye and cheek. He could’ve made a joke about how she had eating a lamppost for not looking up from her phone, but her eyes told her everything he needed to know. He had seen the same guilty, ashamed, nervous and preoccupied look before, in his mother.

Strike was boiling. He took a step towards the door, but Robin stopped him from going and killing Matthew.

“Don’t, please, don’t,” Robin cried out. “Please, Cormoran.” Her voice sounded so strained and broken, Strike released the door handle and walked to the freezer instead, grabbing a bag of frozen corn.

“Couldn’t find anything more Cornish,” he tried to joke as he showed Robin the bag, approaching her. Robin chuckled sadly. Strike sat on the verge of the bed facing the bag and went to put it on her face, but saw her flinch before he had even touched her. Strike chastised himself. “Here, better if you do it, I’m too clumsy.” He lied so she wouldn’t have to face the fact that having a hand raised at her face made her flinch. She nodded taking the bag with her left hand and hissed as she pressed it against her face, then sighed. Strike, on instinct, went to hold her other hand to comfort her, and then noticed it was all bruised and slightly swollen. _Punch_ wound. He didn’t say a word and went to fetch a can of cold beer he could put against her hand.

Half an hour later, Strike put the items back in the freezer, put some pomade on Robin’s face and hand, and, while Robin closed her eyes for a bit, he prepared some dinner, making a bit of soup with vegetables so they’d strengthen Robin up. He felt sick to his stomach, and had eyes teary of anger. Soup finished, he set it on his nightstand and put a hand on Robin’s arm, softly shaking her awake. She looked confused at first, but then she smiled a little, looking tired.

“Come on, I made dinner,” he said softly, raising a spoon to her face. “Open-up...” he smiled a little as she obeyed, and slowly, he fed her the entire bowl of soup in a few minutes. Then, he left the empty bowl on the night stand. “Good job... how are you feeling? I need to make sure you don’t need to go to the ER.”

“I’m a little better...” she said hoarsely. She sounded sick. “My head and hand hurt a little, and my face, but not so much as before... and I’m a bit dizzy. Tired.” Strike nodded, trying to see how dilated her pupils were.

“Can you look at my finger?” Strike raised a finger and moved it before her face. “Okay, I think if anything you’ve got a mild concussion, which isn’t a big deal, but I’m staying around and keeping a close eye on you just in case.” Robin smiled weakly.

“Didn’t know you knew medicine.”

“Oh, well,” Strike shrugged. “Comes with boxing. Got left way worse a few times.” He tried a small smile and squeezed her good hand. “We’ll need to get your hand checked though. I don’t think it’s broken, but you might’ve twisted your wrist, and those things are always very tedious. I could call Nick in the morning though and he can take a look, if you don’t want to go to the hospital.”

“Thanks...” Robin nodded. “If I go, they’ll call Matthew.” Strike nodded. “Can you imagine what happened? Clue; it was just us, no third persons.” she asked after a few minutes. Strike let a long sigh out. He had been thinking about it.

“You got home all excited, wanted to tell him everything. It was also his first day back at work, so perhaps he wanted to tell you his day first, so he bore you to exhaustion,” said Strike with a hint of a joke, that made her almost smile. “Then he got happy you were getting a pay rise, but when he heard you’d work more hours, he grew angrier, and that without mentioning we’d be sharing room,” Strike knew. Quitting the jealousy part, he had had the same from Charlotte. “Then he was shouting, wasn’t it?” he didn’t dare to look at her. He looked to his knees, speaking low.  “Jealousy, because he didn’t cause that happiness, anger, because he’s sure you’re going to cheat on him just like he cheated on you, repulsion, because you don’t drool on his feet, fear, because you being your own strong, independent, woman, means you’re only with him because you want to, not because you need him, and what if you stop wanting him? And then he punched you. He made you the cause of all his problems, concerns, worries and anger, and he punched you. But you aren’t to blame. He’s the only cause. Not you. But you had to punch him, because otherwise he might’ve killed you.”

Strike’s voice was soft and warm and, despite the topic, created a sense of calmness inside of Robin. She had been looking down and her eyes slowly drifted up to him. His big bulk of broad shoulders and wide, long back, curved forward. His big, strong, hairy arms falling helplessly between his bent knees, the elbows supported on big thighs. His head inclined looking down, his short, unruly curls, all dark and rebellious, and his long, dark eyebrows. That expression of sullen crossness. He looked crestfallen and defeated, like a sad mastiff, and Robin felt an urge to make him feel better.

She raised her good hand and placed it on the crook of his closest elbow. Robin didn’t know what else to do, so she just left it there, feeling his warmth irradiating to her hand and making it feel on fire for reasons she didn’t understand. Strike looked up and put his hand over hers, his eyes soft on her, instantly making her feel better. He had managed for his lips to curve upwards a little.

“I’m okay now,” said Robin softly. Strike shook his head and his thumb stroke her hand.

“You will be,” he said, simply. “After all, if anyone here knows how to get her butt off from the worst crap, that’s you.” Robin smiled a little.

“I broke his nose,” said Robin in a small voice. Strike snorted a laugh.

“Good job.”

“Do you think I’ll go to prison?” She looked genuinely worried. Strike squeezed her hand a little and shook his head.

“Wardle likes you too much to let you go to prison,” said Strike, carefully putting her hand back on the bed. “It’s late, you need to catch some sleep. I can lend you a pyjama if you didn’t bring any.” He looked at the holdall on the feet of the bed.

“I brought one, but I’m too tired to change,” murmured Robin. “It’s like... it hurt so much inside, it’s physically exhausting,” Strike nodded.

“Don’t worry, I’m not finicky, you can sleep with your clothes on here. I have more blankets, if you need?” he asked looking at her and raising his eyebrows slightly as he stood up next to the bed. Robin smiled small and shook her head very briefly, as if it hurt to do so.

“It’s warm tonight,” she murmured. Then, to Strike’s astonishment, she moved her good hand behind her back and, after some seconds and a bit of twisting, she removed her bra and pulled it from under her shirt. She snorted a laugh at his face of surprise. “One develops incredible abilities when it’s needed.”

“I see,” Strike chuckled a little. “Well, goodnight Robin. I’m going downstairs for a moment to grab your tea bags, will be right back.” Robin nodded.

“Thanks... uh, Cormoran, can I ask you one last thing?” Strike turned around when he was about to leave, and nodded quickly. She blushed, putting the flowered red duvet over herself. “Could you get your hands under the duvet and... pull from my jeans?” Strike blushed but nodded, rising the feet of the duvet just enough to stick his big hands underneath. Robin shivered as she felt his hands grip her trousers and pull strongly but delicately, as she helped with her good hand to roll them down, and he finally removed them and put them on a chair.

“There,” Strike smiled. “Get comfy.”

Strike walked downstairs to the office, grabbed the tea Robin liked, and put a paper on the glass door saying ‘We open only after lunch today due to work outside all morning. Sorry. –Strike’ before walking back upstairs. He made sure to lock the door that led to the stairwell that went to her attic, which he never did, but he had a feeling Matthew would come looking for Robin. Then he locked the door of his attic, and took a glance at Robin. His lamp was on and he could see Robin’s relaxed expression as she lied haphazardly face up on his small bed. She looked exhausted and beautiful and Strike, once again, wanted to kill Matthew, but instead he put an alarm in his mobile at bloody seven in the morning, shoved the phone inside his trousers’ pocket, and removed his leg while sitting on his armchair in front of the TV and by the bed. Strike put a blanket over himself and adjusted uncomfortably on the armchair. He had slept in worse places, and the armchair was a habitual place for him to fall asleep on, so he had no troubles. Glancing at Robin one last time, he closed his eyes, murmuring a goodnight to Robin.

A noise similar to a crying puppy woke Strike up when he seemed to have just fallen asleep, but his watch indicated it was actually close to five in the morning. Strike looked around, startled, until he noticed the sound came from his bed. He had forgotten to turn the lamp off, so he could have a look at Robin, and saw she was frowning a little and sweating. Concerned she might’ve gotten sick, Strike hopped to the bed, sitting on the verge and putting his hands carefully on her shoulders.

“Robin, Robin,” he shook her softly. “Robin, are you alright?” Her eyes opened up and she gasped for air, coughing a little, then looking at him first with a light frown and then, as she remembered the night’s events, she relaxed. “Are you okay?” he asked again.

“Yeah...” Robin looked confused. “Why did you wake me up?”

“I thought...” Strike shrugged. “You were making terrible noises. Like crying. I thought you were feeling sick or something.”

“Oh...” Robin blushed so hard she seemed like a lamp all of the sudden. Strike looked confused now. “Cormoran, I’m so, so sorry, I uh... sometimes I...” she chastised herself. That wasn’t useful information. “I have nightmares with... sometimes, you know.” Strike’s brain finally woke up and he understood. She still had nightmares about the rape. He still had nightmares about the leg, and his mother. He could emphasize. He nodded.

“Do you uh... want some beer?” Robin snorted a laugh, but at the same time she felt deeply touched. It was like when she was down as a kid and Rowntree would lick her, because even if it didn’t help her much, it’s what he’d do to his puppies if they felt unwell. Beer was Strike’s go-to, and he was willing to offer it to Robin, like a favourite personal blanket. He looked so innocent and helpless for one moment, it was just the tenderest thing.

“Thank you Cormoran, but I’m okay. I’m sorry I woke you up, though...” she apologised again. Strike shook his head.

“Don’t worry about that,” said Strike, then he blushed as he continued. “It happens to me too, sometimes. I get it.” Robin nodded. It was so weird. Matthew, the last time he had woken her from a nightmare, had gone on about how the job was terrible for her and she should take time off. Strike had first offered something to comfort her, and then emphasized with her. She couldn’t help but feel even more grateful for him. “Well, try to catch some more sleep then. And don’t worry about a thing, he couldn’t defeat you in real life, I’d say his chances are incredibly slim in dreams.” Strike half-joked, winking at her. Robin smiled and nodded.

“Thank you. Goodnight.” Strike nodded and went back to his armchair, wishing her goodnight too in the process.


	7. Two neurons left

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Confrontations incoming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Thank you so much for your reviews. My wrist is doing better, and I am always thankful and blessed to get reviews and see what all of you think. If you wish to, I have a tumblr (https://thetrunkofthenighttraveler.tumblr.com/) where I often talk about my fics, or post content fandom related, if you want to check it or talk to me there, feel free!  
> Hugs!

The first thing Strike did upon waking up with his alarm was to make sure Robin was still peacefully asleep. Then, he got dressed and ready and, while preparing tea, called Nick, the earliest bird of the Herberts, because he liked to go running or bicycling every single morning, first thing. Then he’d get home, shower, make breakfast, and by the time Ilsa came downstairs it would be ready. Ilsa thought he was perfect for that, but every now and then attempted to surprise him being there before him, although it was very difficult. Nick was so used and comfortable with his morning routine, there was no way to change it.

            Strike gave his best friend a ‘trimmed’ version of the events. He explained he had arrived home at night to find Robin, who had had a fight with her husband and had spent the night at his attic. He mentioned he was worried she needed some medical attention, that she didn’t want to go to the hospital just in case they called Matthew, and that he didn’t quite know what else to do but ask Nick if he could take a look at her and try to heal her up a little. Nick was full of concern, of course, and promised to pass from his exercise routine and be there as soon as he could instead, asking if he should bring Ilsa along. Strike, shooting a quick look at Robin, decided affirmative, because he knew girls had special bonds and always liked to call another girl when they were shitty, especially when it was man’s fault. Robin and Ilsa had met in plenty of occasions over the year and a half Robin had been working with him, and he had always thought they got along pretty well. They weren’t so different, in the end; they both had a Doberman fierceness for justice and bonded over making fun of him.

However, Strike didn’t want to catch Robin by surprise, so he decided to let her know what was happening so she could approve.

“Robin,” he woke her up a little. She barely blinked, but nodded as she was listening. “I called Nick. He and Ilsa are going to come as soon as possible and take a look at you. I thought you’d prefer if Ilsa came too, but if you don’t, I’ll call them again.” Robin’s eyes opened wide and she fixed them on him, in a mixture between astonishment and gratefulness.

“Oh uh...” Robin smiled a little and nodded. “Thank you, Cormoran. Yeah, I’ll probably feel better if she’s around, she always knows what to say, doesn’t she?” Strike nodded. “Besides... I’m going to need legal advice.”

“Okay... I’ve got clean towels if you want to shower, and I’m making tea, I’ll leave the mug here when it’s ready.” He said fatherly. Robin nodded with a little smile.

“Thank you. I still feel kinda dizzy though...” she murmured with a small frown. “So it’s probably best if I don’t get up?” Strike frowned a little.

“You’re still dizzy? It must’ve been a mild concussion...” Strike sighed, and nodded. “Sure, I don’t want you falling or something. Don’t worry.” He smiled a little to comfort her, and squeezed her arm before going to make breakfast.

The intercom rang as Strike was finishing up brushing his teeth. Robin had eaten a little bed on the bed and was dozing off and waking-up, which Strike didn’t know if he should be worried about. He told Nick and Ilsa he’d be right there and turned around to look at Robin, who sat in his bed looking a bit pale, which made him more anxious.

“I’m going downstairs to open the door, alright?”

“Yeah, okay.”

Strike moved out of the attic, closing the door behind him and making sure it was locked, just in case. Then he went downstairs, his leg feeling a little better that early morning. Mr. Crowdy’s office was closed but Strike heard him already up and about through the door as he passed it to get to the building door, that was always closed through the nights. Strike opened it and saw Nick and Ilsa. They both looked worried and the kiss on the cheek Ilsa and Strike usually shared was cut short.

“How is she doing?” asked Ilsa anxiously as they came inside.

“I don’t know,” Strike was about as anxious. “She’s dizzy, she says. Only gets out of bed for the bathroom, I don’t know if she got her head really badly knocked or something... The bastard punched her and she might’ve hit her head against the wall behind her? I don’t know.”

“We’ll see,” Nick was carrying his medical bag and trotted upstairs in front of them. Ilsa and Strike, pregnant and invalid, went behind slower.

Strike opened the door of the attic and led them inside.

“Hi sweetie,” Ilsa said motherly affectionate smiling at Robin without saying a word about her face, that now looked yellowish in the bruised area, and a little less swollen, and walking to her. Robin smiled small, sitting pale with her back against the pillows. Ilsa walked to her and engulfed her in a hug, sitting on the verge of the bed. “How are you feeling?” asked Ilsa sweetly as they hugged. Robin, for all answer, hugged her back and puffed.

“Well at least you got some sleep right?” Nick asked with a sympathetic smile as he set his bag on the feet of the table and pulled things out.

“That I did, thank God Cormoran is an angel,” Robin smiled at Strike over Ilsa’s shoulder as the girls pulled apart. Strike smiled back.

“There’s tea if you want, guys,” said Strike.

“Nice place,” Ilsa chuckled looking around. “I must say it has a big touch of you like... being so sober.” She joked, making them laugh with the double meaning and the irony. Strike’s phone then rang.

“Ugh, we’ve got clients...” Robin lamented.

“Don’t worry,” Strike attended the phone-call. “Strike,” he said. Then, his eyebrows rose. “Oh, hey Matthew,” his eyes drifted to Robin, who looked at him in panic. “Really? Sorry to hear that,” he said coldly. “Actually, Robin did call me like half an hour ago, she said she was going to be around London all day from temp agency to temp agency putting offers, because we’re looking for a secretary. Since she knows temp agencies better than I do, she figured it’ll be best if she did that, so I don’t think I’ll see her at all today. No, no, I’ve got work to do, won’t stay in the office for long today, so even if she came back...” Strike sighed. He lied awfully well, Robin could tell. But she got more relaxed seeing he had it covered. “Now that you mention it, she did mention she’d take advantage of the trip and head to Oxford,” Strike knew Robin’s car wasn’t parked down in Denmark Street because he hadn’t seen it when opening the door for Ilsa and Nick, although he was sure she had driven there and just parked somewhere else, since Denmark Street was often complicated to park, because Robin hated public transport when it was so late, and she had come running in the middle of the night. “Yes, Oxford, well she’s the one who can drive so she offered to interview a client, can’t tell you the address because it’s confidential, but I guess if you call her... Oh, come on, she’ll pick up at some point, won’t she? Yes Matthew, I’m a detective, which is why I can confirm you don’t need a great detective to know your wife wants some time alone and doesn’t wish to talk with you, so perhaps stop bothering her? Thanks.” Strike got pissed off in the end and hung up. Right then he got a text from Matthew himself ‘Be at the office in 5’. Strike snorted a laugh.

“What?” asked Robin. Nick was just examining her face.

“Matthew texted me just now, he’s coming to the office so I’ve got to go. I don’t think he’s going to believe you didn’t come to me unless he sees you’re not in the office for himself, I’m trying to make him think...”

“Yeah I heard, but Cormoran!” Robin hurried gently pushing Nick away to look at Strike before he left. “Do not touch him.” Strike looked at her and shrugged.

“Of course not.”

“I _mean_ it, Cormoran. Don’t get in his level, no matter how pissed off you get. Promise me.”

“I promise,” Strike nodded. “You let Nick take care for you, I’ll be back as soon as it’s safe. Guys, don’t leave the attic okay? I don’t want him to know I live here and camp by the door, I’m locking all the doors. He doesn’t know I live here, right?”

“No, I told him you live in an attic, but didn’t say where,” confirmed Robin. “Good luck, and thank you.”

“And don’t worry, we’ll be here!” added Ilsa.

“All good!”

Strike locked the door behind him, went down the flight of stairs and only walked out when he was sure Matthew wasn’t around, locking that door too after himself. He then got into his office, put his jacket on the coat rack, and made tea so it looked like he had been there for a while.

He had only just poured the tea in his mug and taken a long sip when the door opened.

“Strike!” Matthew shouted. Strike looked at him from the kitchenette, leaving the tea on Robin’s old desk.

“Matthew, no good morning or anything?” Strike commented giving him a cold look and putting his hands in his pockets as if to prevent himself from punching him. Matthew looked elegant in his suit, and Strike saw he had gotten his broken nose taken-care-of, because it was bandaged and his voice sounded a bit nasal. Although the sight of the noise satisfied Strike, who mentally high-fived Robin, the sight of Matthew always made him angry, like a reminder of all the reasons why he was shit and he hated him.

“Don’t try to fool me,” Matthew then rushed to look around for Robin and barged inside Strike’s inner office.

“Matthew,” Strike hissed, walking into his inner office behind Matthew, starting to lose his temper. Who did he think he was barging in _his_ office like that?

“Where is she?!” Matthew demanded looking around.

“Have you tried inside the walls?” Strike growled, feeling himself get pissed. He was always so patient –he hadn’t killed any of the rough clients they had had- but with Matthew he just couldn’t. Matthew glared at him. “I don’t know who you think you are barging inside my office and treating this like your place and talking to me this way, but I’m having none of this, I don’t have time for your bullshit, so leave now or I’ll call an old friend in the Met who owes me his life and will have no issue keeping you in jail for twenty-four hours with whatever excuse.” Strike snapped.

Matthew fixed his eyes on him, angry. Strike felt angrier knowing this is the Matthew Robin had seen the previous night, one even worse who had gotten to punch her. Strike could only imagine how afraid she had been, even knowing fully-well how to protect herself. Soldiers were scared too, fear wasn’t something that brave and capable people couldn’t feel.

“I know she came here to you last night. She’s in your attic, isn’t she? You fucked her last night, you bloody bastard, you’re going to be omelette when I’m done with you!” Matthew stepped threateningly towards him.

“Go on, punch me if you have the balls,” Strike stepped forward. “You would’ve loved it if I had slept with her last night, wouldn’t you? So you could call her a whore, right?” Strike smiled bitterly. “You have no idea how fucking lucky you are.”

“Do you think I can’t beat the shit out of you?” Strike couldn’t help but laugh and Matthew got angrier. “I know what you’ve done, and she’s too much of a coward to come and face me. You slept with her yesterday and you did it again last night, we argued and I’m sure as hell she came to you playing victim, look what she did to my nose!”

“Looks like you deserve it,” said Strike simply. Then he stepped forward once again. “Listen to me, you wanker. If you do as much as calling Robin a coward, or anything insulting or degrading in the slightest, again, I will put you through a pain far worse than a broken nose.” He said calmly. “And if you put a hand on her again... you won’t die without suffering so much you’ll beg for death to come sooner. Are we clear?”

“Is this a threat, Strike?” Matthew growled.

“Glad you still have two neurons left alive to figure it out all on your own,” Strike smiled. “Now get the hell out of here before I call the police and have you arrested for harassment. After what you did last night I’m sure Robin would appreciate it.” Strike’s smile vanished and he stepped back.

Strike knew perfectly well not to turn around on a dangerous person, but he secretly wanted to tempt Matthew, so he turned around to exit his office and smirked as he heard Matthew perfectly right. Before Matthew had had the chance to hit Strike’s back with the chair, Strike moved aside so quickly the chair was thrown against the door, and before it hit it, Strike had already grabbed Matthew by the neck of his shirt, pulling him ten centimetres from the ground and stamping his back and the back of his head against the wall.

The only self-control Strike had left was what kept him from killing the accountant, but he lowered him still pressed against the wall, until they were eye-to-eye, Matthew’s feet still not touching the floor. Matthew looked panicked and angry and Strike’s eyes had widened, his teeth clenching.

“You fucking son of a bitch,” Strike growled. “You were trying to kill me, weren’t you, bloody bastard? Wouldn’t that make you happy, if I was out of the picture, so you could keep beating the shit out of your wife?! You’re lucky she’s so loving to only see the best of you, so kind to forgive your bullshit and so nice to only break your nose when she should’ve broken your whole face, and believe me, she had mercy with you because I know she’s capable of putting you through so much pain. Yes, she came to me last night, and no, I didn’t fuck her, because believe or not I’m taken and luckily for you, you married the best woman there is, someone who would’ve stabbed herself before being unfaithful. You want to know what I did though? I hugged her while she cried her eyes out because of you and your fucking bullshit, and I had a lawyer take her far away from you and soon, you’ll be hearing from such lawyer. Now I advise you to run, because if you give her the minimal reason to complain about you from now on, I will haunt you down and destroy your fucking life, do you hear me? I will investigate every dirty rag you have, I will tell everyone what you did to Robin and not just the hitting but everything else, and you will lose your job, your wife, your house, and hopefully, spend the rest of your days in prison. Luckily, some of those things are already going to happen no matter what. Go and never come back because I assure you, I will never let you hurt her again. No matter what, I will always be there to have her back. Nail that in whatever’s left of your bloody useless brain. I’m not half the kind and forgiving she is.”

Strike almost threw Matthew downstairs himself, and Matthew run the rest of the steps, not daring to say another word. Then, Strike locked himself in the office for a moment. He made sure his chair and door were fine, finished his tea and sat down taking deep breaths. He wanted to make sure he was super calm before facing Robin, because he knew she would sense his anger and tension and he refused to scare her. When he was sure he was alright, he washed the mug and walked back upstairs, locking the office door and all the doors until he reached his flat, just in case.

“What happened?” Robin asked immediately. Strike looked at her, standing next to Ilsa, and saw Nick was just finishing bandaging her wrist up. Strike answered by making a very brief recounting of the events, and in the end, Robin looked anxious and Nick and Ilsa stared at him all serious.

“I didn’t hit him,” Strike defended himself.

“I’m not angry at you,” Robin assured, softly. “I just... I wasn’t expecting him to... you said he tried to beat you up with a chair? From behind?” Strike nodded. “I...” Robin shook her head. She felt like she could throw up. “I thought he was in love with me,” Robin said with tears in her eyes, “I thought he never meant to hurt me, that he cheated because it was a mistake and he was truly sorry, that’s why I came back... and at the wedding... right after we got married, we promised to each other that we’d be strict with our vows, just love, respect, no cheating... we promised...” she sighed and a tear fell down her eye. “I specifically told him he’d have to be okay with you, and I threatened with not signing the wedding papers if he didn’t compromise with his vows and with being a new man who wasn’t jealous and who supported me, and two weeks, that’s what his promises lasted!” she was now fully sobbing, looking down as she sniffled. Nick, who was a soft man and couldn’t stand to see someone cry and do nothing, squeezed her good hand. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this!” Robin cried out. “Ten years together and I swear he was only caring, attentive, the sweetest, nicest, kindest man! I swear he wasn’t like this!” Strike frowned. She was like trying to apologize for his behaviour in his name and Strike wasn’t having it.

“Nick, would you...?” Strike asked softly. Nick nodded, stepping back, and Strike sat in his place and instantly hugged Robin close. She cried against his shoulder. “Robin, Robin, listen to me,” Strike pulled apart, cupping her face carefully, making sure he wouldn’t hurt her. “This isn’t your fault. This has nothing to do with you, you’re just a victim, someone who got caught-up in the middle without asking for it. Robin, you are irreproachable and faultless, you hear me? You should never apologize for being kind, loving and forgiving, for having compassion, for seeing the best on other people, for always having nice words and sympathetic gestures for those who need it even if they don’t deserve them. Those things make you the special, amazing woman you are, and I never want you to stop being every part of you.”

“But if I hadn’t been so forgiving... if I hadn’t been so naive and nice...” Robin sniffled. Strike shook his head.

“Then he would still be a royal tosser,” Robin snorted a laugh. “Only that this world would be a little colder, because you wouldn’t be so wonderful. Listen...” Strike sighed, taking her good hand between his own. It felt so soft and delicate between his rough giant hands. “You are the psychologist. You saw Laing too. You know too often, bad people take advantage of good people and make them believe they’re good too. They hide their selfishness, their violence, their jealousy and all of their flaws, and when you finally see who they truly are, it’s too late. They’re very smart, malicious, twisted and completely nuts, and that doesn’t mean you’re any less perfect, they just trap the best of us. It’s not your fault. He’s the only monster in here and you should never change, because yes, being overly kind means the world tends to step on your feet, but the world needs you to be overly kind, because there’s going to be innocent people there who need your compassion and all the good in you. You just end up learning to spot the crazy sooner and stay away from it, that’s life. His loss anyway.” Robin nodded grateful for his words, and took a few deep breaths.

“Perhaps he could change, right? maybe he’s just...”

“Sh...” Strike smiled softly at her. “Don’t do that, you’re too intelligent for that.” Robin looked sadly at him. “If it serves of any consolation, better know now how he is than when you’ve been with him for sixteen years and there are children in the middle. Trust me, I stood by a complete nutter for sixteen years. Now you feel like shit and it sucks hard, but in a couple years, when you find yourself in your fancy new desk with a wad of banknotes in your pocket, living in a gorgeous attic in downtown London, and your face in the newspapers every day praising you for all the bad guys you’ve caught, it won’t hurt so much anymore.” He half joked ironically and half was sincere. Robin caught it and couldn’t help but snort a laugh.

“That’s bullshit and you know it,” Robin chuckled sadly. “I saw you when Charlotte married Jago Ross.” Strike shrugged.

“Sometimes I am shitty still,” Strike recognised. “But then I look around and I see you and how lucky I am to have you and that you’re so good lifting the business up from the ashes, and it goes away.” He smiled a little. “You’ve put serial killers in prison. You’re a strong, wonderful, independent woman and you don’t need anyone to make your life incredible. Trust me, this isn’t the end... this is the beginning of something incredibly great, when all the legal shit passes away, and you’ve got one hell of a lawyer who will make sure of that, you’ll see that from now on, things will just get better and better every day. You will never be hit by your partner again, you will never be pushed aside again, nor undermined, nor cheated on, and there will be no more fights about work. You’re free to be unapologetically you.”


	8. The story

“I want to report my husband for domestic violence,” Wardle looked at them with an astonished face. They were squeezed in his office, Robin and Ilsa sitting in front of his desk, Ilsa keeping an arm around Robin protectively, and Strike standing right behind her with Nick. Wardle looked at Strike in disbelief, and he nodded.

“Alright, I’m sorry you’ve been hurt like that,” Wardle looked at her sympathetically. “Let me find one of my colleagues that handle those things...”

“I want you,” said Robin firmly. “Please, Wardle,” she begged him. “I don’t want to tell these things to a complete stranger. I trust you.” Wardle sighed, and nodded.

“Would you prefer talking with Ekwensi though?” Wardle asked.

“No, you’re fine.” Robin assured. “This one here is Ilsa Herbert, my lawyer. And here is her husband, Doctor Nick Herbert, who’s checked me over. You’ve got my full statement here, and he’s also added his diagnosis. We also included photographs of my injures.” She added pointing to the papers Ilsa put on his desk. Wardle nodded, taking a look at them.

After a few minutes of reading, Wardle nodded.

“Impeccable, very good,” said Wardle. “So how would you want to proceed? Divorce? Restraining order? I can have him arrested and prosecuted for this, if he doesn’t have a record, he might get bailed out, but we could put a restraining order and with the divorce, make sure he stays away.”

“That is what I want,” Robin nodded softly. She still felt a bit dizzy and couldn’t do brusque movements. Nick had confirmed a sprained wrist and a mild concussion, because Robin’s head had collided with the wall behind her when she was punched. It had taken hours (and Strike even had time to go attend the people who were bringing the new furniture to the office during the morning), but Robin was finally calm and collected enough to proceed with these things. “I want a divorce, I want him to be arrested for this, for as long as you can, so I can collect all my things and leave the flat we share, and I want to present charges for domestic violence, not just for punching me, but for all the times he has abused me psychologically, and I studied psychology, I know what I’m talking about,” Robin said firmly. “And then... I do want a restraining order. I don’t want him to come close to wherever I live next or to my place of work, or to me. And he came today to the office and tried to kill Cormoran,” Wardle’s eyebrows shot up and he looked up at Strike, who nodded.

“He threw a chair of my office at my back, I just moved right in time,” said Strike. “I know is not strictly a murder attempt as such, but he called me asking for Robin, I lied and said she wasn’t around... my report, fuck I left it... here,” Strike pulled a folded paper from his jacket and gave it to Wardle, who started reading it while listening to them. “You know my memory is excellent, I wrote it all there. You’ll find his fingerprints in the chair he used to throw at me if you want them. Robin and I talked about it and we think the chances of Matthew staying away from Robin for good are better if I say he tried to kill me and threatened me and report him for harassment, which is what he’s done, barging into my office unwanted and playing deaf when I repeatedly told him to get out. I would also like a restraining order because even if I’d love for him to give me an excuse to kick his arse, I work with Robin and my attic is right above the office, so if he comes near me he probably comes near Robin, and I’m not having it. I’m not giving him excuses.”

After completing all the paperwork, Wardle sent a patrol out to arrest Matthew and they waited drinking tea and sitting in his office until Wardle got the call that Matthew was arrested, so Robin could go and pick up her things. Strike, Nick and Ilsa helped her pack up all of her belongings. Thankfully, Robin and Matthew didn’t have a joint bank account, since they only paid the flat together and with the little Robin earned it was easier if Matthew paid and then Robin handed him her part on hand when she could. They had talked about having it joint when Robin got ‘a real job’ to pay the schools and children’s expenses, when they came. Robin then insisted on inviting her friends for a last lunch in the flat before they left it forever, in compensation for everything they had done for her. Strike had the feeling that she just wanted to have one last good memory in the flat to overlap the last bad one, now that the Herberts’ car and the Land Rover were full of her things.

“Tomorrow will be a better day,” Strike assured Robin, smiling at her as they devoured the food, their appetites very alive after so much work. Strike’s life had been perfectly packed in just a few boxes, but Robin’s needed tissues, breaks, tons of boxes, some bags, and a few suitcases. She was just lucky that, since she had just been in Masham, plenty of her things had been left there.

“Oh God, my mum is going to flip,” Robin snorted a laugh. Now, with everything packed, she had a feeling of calmness inside, like she could just take a deep breath and everything would be okay.

“Have you thought where you’re going to stay, Robin? If you don’t want to stay here, you’ll need to find somewhere else until the divorce is completed and Matthew’s forced to pay you an economical compensation big enough for you to get a new place,” said Ilsa delicately.

“Shit...” Robin sighed. “You’re right... perhaps I should stay here in the meantime.” Robin puffed. She had hoped to be able to leave the flat and its memories as soon as possible.

“You can stay in my bed as long as you want, there are two sofas in the office I can use, and the camp bed,” said Strike cheerfully. “However, before while you were with the paperwork I spoke with Nick and Ilsa and...”

“You can stay with us,” Ilsa blurted out, happily. “We have a spare room and we would love to have you. But Cormoran thought perhaps you wouldn’t be so comfortable sharing a house, so another possibility we discussed is Cormoran moving with us for a while and letting you his attic. He’s been living with us plenty of times so he’s used to it, and you’d have your own space if that’s more comfortable for you. We’re all happy with whatever you decide, so no pressure.”

Robin’s jaw dropped and he looked at them in disbelief.

“It’s possible that eventually you just have to stay in my bed and I take the sofas though, because when the triplets arrive, even if they sleep with them for a few months, it’s going to get hectic and you won’t catch any sleep. Although I can sleep through a thunderstorm, so really, whatever you feel most comfortable with,” Strike added casually. Robin’s eyes widened.

“Triplets? What triplets?” She asked. Ilsa and Nick smiled. “No way! You’re pregnant! I thought you were just putting on some weight!” Robin said excitedly, then she squealed and jumped off her seat to hug Ilsa. “Oh my God I can’t believe it! Congratulations!” Robin knew how much they wanted to get pregnant, as Ilsa had confided to her on one occasion, and knew they had suffered with the years of not having success, so she was super happy for them, and even more after all the gratitude she felt towards them. Ilsa and Nick laughed and both hugged her in return.

“Thank you,” Ilsa said. “So what do you say? You will help us with the little we can, right?” she gave her puppy eyes and Robin snorted a laugh.

“I don’t even have words to express how grateful I am to you three. Really, you’ve saved my arse...” said Robin.

“Oh, exaggerated,” Nick laughed. “You thank us too soon, wait until we ask for you to babysit in exchange.”

“You know what? I’ll happily babysit them whenever you want!” Robin grinned. “I’ve always been good with kids, with two little brothers myself.”

“So what are you gonna do?” asked Strike. “Choose whatever you like.” He smiled warmly. Robin thought about it for a moment.

“I think I’ll be happy to live in that spare room, that way no one has to move out and I grew up with three brothers and shared a dorm in University, I have a master’s degree in cohabitation.” Robin joked. The fact that she was joked a little made Strike feel happier. “And then I can help around with the kids, I really don’t mind. I’ll probably be capable of having my own place before they’re born anyway, or shortly afterwards, anyway. Besides, Cormoran’s going to need the attic for when his girlfriend comes over.” She added teasingly. In the vibe of happiness that having her own future sorted out towards something good gave her, she didn’t feel so bad towards Elin anymore. Nick and Ilsa giggled.

“What girlfriend?” asked Strike,

“Oh my God, you’ve got more than one?!” Robin feigned shock. Strike snorted.

“I mean that Elin and I are no longer together. I broke up with her.” Robin got suddenly serious, even though something inside of her roared hungrily.

“What?” Robin was surprised. “Shit, you didn’t say anything! I’m so sorry...”

“Why? It’s great, I did it, I’m happy,” Strike chuckled.

“But why, what did she do?” Robin wondered.

“Nothing, she’s a great woman,” said Strike. “But she’s got a daughter and I wasn’t comfortable with the idea of intruding in her life. Besides, Elin was starting to want something serious and I didn’t feel the same level of fascination towards her I suppose. She was also very pissed off because I spilled wine on her dress on our last date, so she took it well.” He added with a funny note. Robin chocked on her drink and laughed.

“You what?” she enjoyed this side of Strike, sharing his life and joking about it. She wondered if it had anything to do with her being in such a low point.

“Ruined her dress, and it was an expensive one. Your fault by the way, I got up too fast from my seat when Wardle calling me about Brockbank and knocked down the wine,” Strike was smiling cheerfully as he drank a nice wine ‘reserved for special occasions’ that Robin had boldly opened. He liked to make her laugh more than anything, he realised. Even if it meant talking about his personal life. He’d do anything to make her smile a little after the rough night, he didn’t understand why.

And now, Robin and their friends were giggling.

“You clumsy giant,” Robin joked. “Well I’m glad it’s a good thing. I thought she left you because she was done with you taking the whole bed on your own.” She added teasingly, making them giggle. Strike blushed.

“Did you know that being a giant means I’m the mattress in every relationship? Since you’re the psychologist, tell me Robin, why do women think they’re not heavy as fuck?” he joked, laughing. Robin laughed harder, blushing herself.

The laugh, however, was cut short when Robin’s mobile rang and she saw it was her mother.

“Shit, the kraken,” Robin joked, although she was glad to speak with her mum. “Bet Matthew called her or something... anyway, I better take this.” She got up and went to the kitchen.

“Hello love, how are you?” asked Linda caringly.

“Hi mum, I’ve got so much to tell you,” said Robin, seeing her mother didn’t know and was just calling for her regular checking on her. “I’m divorcing Matthew.” She blurted out.

“Oh... oh...” Linda took a deep breath. “Did he do it again, love? Are you sure of this?”

“Mum he uh...” Robin closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Her face still hurt a little, more if she made facial expressions. “Matthew gave me a purple eye last night,” Linda gasped. “I had to break his nose in order to protect myself and run to Cormoran’s. If it wasn’t for his kindness, Matthew would’ve probably found me and beaten the shit out of me, you didn’t see him, he was... crazy. Out of himself, unrecognizable. I wasn’t set on divorcing him because I thought perhaps it was just the heat of the moment, but then this morning he went harassing Cormoran at the office, and if it wasn’t because Cormoran’s a veteran, Matthew could’ve seriously injured him. Apparently this is Matthew, he was just hidden under layers of fake wonderfulness and now... well, he’s been arrested. I actually think he’s a dangerous person, mum.” Robin’s voice was soft and a little weak, and she heard Linda breathe deeply.

“Are you alright? Are you in the hospital?”

“I needn’t to, I’m okay. Cormoran’s best friends are a marriage of a doctor and a lawyer, so they came running and Nick, the doctor, looked after my wounds, and Ilsa, the lawyer, is taking care of all the legal stuff for free, they offered. Ilsa usually deals with murder cases, but she used to do domestic violence things so she’s happy to help, and she works at a law firm so she knows people to chime in if necessary,” Robin explained. “I spent the night in Cormoran’s attic, he was so kind to lent me his bed and sleep on an armchair the whole night mum, and now we were just having lunch the four of us and Nick and Ilsa offered me their spare room, so I’m doing that.”

“I’m coming to the city with your father, do you think tomorrow’s a good day or will it be still too hectic for you?” Linda asked tenderly.

“Mum you don’t need...”

“Robin...”

“Fine,” Robin sighed. “Tomorrow’s fine, it’s alright. You’ll need to stay in a hotel though, I mean, the flat is free if you want but I can’t stay here. I want to cut my looses and start over immediately. All my things are already packed-up and in the car.”

“That’s okay, we can afford a hotel for a few days,” Linda said calmly. “So how’s your eye, sweetie? We can bring you anything from home if you need?”

“Thanks mum, but I’m good. My eye didn’t actually take most of it, it was more like my cheekbone and temple, eyebrow... it’s bruised but it looks way better than last night. Cormoran iced it and put some pomade on it that he’s got for his own problems and Nick this morning gave me some great pomade that anesthetises it a little. I also twisted my wrist punching Matthew on the nose, so the pomade is for that as well, and he bandaged it and everything. I’ve just been very lucky, I’m not alone mum, I’ve got good people here showering me with kindness and being the best for me, really. You don’t need to worry.”

“You know I will always worry because I love you, and I’m so very sorry things went like this, but you won’t be alone. And thank heavens you’ve got such amazing friends, that makes me so happy really,” Robin smiled at her mother’s words. “So what’s going to happen with Matthew?”

“I reported him to our friend in the police for domestic violence and Cormoran added a report for harassment for what happened in the office, which should make it so Matthew’s put away for a while at least,” said Robin. “I’m also working on divorcing him and Cormoran and I both asked for restraining orders to make sure Matthew stays away from me, our office, my place, and Cormoran’s too, since it’s right over the office and we thought it was better that way.”

“Sounds good, lots of legal stuff but you’ve got a good lawyer and we’ll be there if there’s a trial or something, we’ll help you with anything. Could I talk with Cormoran for a moment though?” Robin frowned a little.

“Oh, okay, one moment.” She went back to the table looked confused. “Cormoran, my mum would like to talk to you if that’s okay?” Strike looked as surprised as her, but offered the hand so Robin placed the phone on it. Strike figured staying there to talk was a better idea, so Robin could feel part of the conversation.

“Hello Linda, how’s everything up there?” Strike asked cheerfully. He truly liked the Ellacotts.

“Hello Cormoran, everything okay, how are you?” Linda asked happily. She liked him too, Strike could tell.

“I’m good, good. So what do I owe the pleasure?” Robin sat back on her seat, looking attentively at Strike, whose long, dark eyelashes flickered as he spoke. Robin didn’t realise the movement had hypnotised her a little, and then she felt warm in her face as she noticed a few freckles on Strike’s cheeks, the kind that usually occurred after long exposition to sunlight, not like hers, that were pure red-head style.

“I just wanted to thank you for all you and your friends are doing for my daughter. You protected her last night and took care of her and well, it means a lot to us that you care so much about her,” Linda sounded a little emotional and Strike nodded for himself.

“I’m happy to help, and I’d be even happier to kick Matthew’s arse, but Robin forbid me,” he commented jokingly like a pouting child, winking at Robin, who smiled a little and shook her head.

“Do you think she’s really going to be okay?” Linda asked worriedly. She trusted Strike’s judgement.

“I’ve seen less capable people get out of way bigger holes, Linda,” said Strike sincerely. “We’ll make sure Matthew doesn’t come across again and if the restraining orders fail, then I will personally make sure Matthew doesn’t come close ever again. I’ve got good friends in the police and the military anyway so it’d be very stupid of Matthew to try anything.”

“Okay. I breathe calmer knowing you’re around to help, Cormoran. Thank you.”

“Not at all. Want me to pass you to your daughter again?”

“Sure, thanks. It was nice to hear you darling.” Strike smiled.

“You too, have a nice day.” Strike handed the phone to Robin.

“Mum?”

“Yes, thank you dear. We’ll see you tomorrow then alright?”

“Alright, thanks. Love you mum.”

“Love you so much honey. Take care.”

Robin hung up and sighed looking at Strike.

“What was that about?” Robin asked. Strike shrugged, his plate empty in front of him.

“Motherly concerns, she’s very nice. So, should we take you to the hospital then?”

“I guess,” Robin looked at her empty plate. “God, I really don’t love hospitals much.”

“No one does, don’t worry. Only these weirdoes,” Ilsa smiled looking at her husband, who snorted a laugh.

“Well it’ll only be a minute, get a CT scan to make sure your head is fine and home.”

Robin nodded in resignation and, after making sure everything was neat and in order in the house, Robin locked it one last time, and threw the keys inside down the mail hole. She took a deep breath and nodded for herself, taking a last look at the house and leaving for good.


	9. Secretary search

Robin laid on the king size bed at Nick and Ilsa’s white spare room, looking around with a mixture of melancholy and happiness. Where Strike had seen bare walls awaiting their true destiny, Robin saw a blackboard for imagination, imagining a couple paintings, perhaps some pictures, and soon, she’ll have a room that felt a lot like her. Ilsa had encouraged her to make it her own, since they didn’t know how long she’d have to say, Robin being silently thankful she didn’t have to explain how delicate her economical situation was at the moment. They knew and they didn’t expect her to leave anytime soon. Besides, it would take at least four months if not five until the children were born, and then around six months more before the time came to put them in their own bedroom. That gave Robin almost a year to sort herself out, and probably more, since Nick and Ilsa were already looking for a bigger house.

They hadn’t planned on suddenly having three children and their house only had two bedrooms, counting the one Robin was using, and a very tiny sitting-room. It was going to get claustrophobic once the three started walking around and Nick and Ilsa were hoping to have a bigger house, somewhere with plenty of open space so the kids could run around without colliding with stuff, and with a bigger garden where they could let their energy flow and not give them so much of a headache. Once they found a bigger house, they’d have plenty of space for Robin too, and they had already invited her to come along when the time came.

A knock on the door got Robin outside her own mind and she looked to see who it was.

“Come in,” said Robin. She was in her pyjamas with the lamp on, the duvet up to her hips, and supporting her back on a ton of pillows, a book abandoned between her hands. Ilsa opened and peeked inside with a tiny smile before coming in and closing the door after herself. Robin saw she had already changed into her plaid pyjamas and now her belly was so evident Robin was astonished she hadn’t noticed earlier. “Hey you.” Robin smiled. She was infinitely grateful at them.

“Hi, can I...?” Ilsa pointed to the bed. Robin nodded and she sat on the verge. “So how are you doing? Comfy?” Robin nodded.

“This is great... I don’t know, it feels like I’m dreaming, still can’t quite believe Matthew did what he did. Shortest marriage in history.” She added with a giggle. Ilsa snorted a laugh.

“Actually, Oggy’s mum was first married to a Mr. Strike and they only lasted about two weeks at most,” said Ilsa. Robin raised her eyebrows, surprised. “In the family there’s an ongoing joke that she just married him because she liked his surname, and she kept it, gave it to Oggy when he was born years later, as you can see.”

“What’s her maiden name?” asked Robin with curiosity. Ilsa chuckled.

“Leda Burke,” replied Ilsa.

“That’s not too bad. I was expecting something like...” Robin shrugged. “Leda Lamp?” Ilsa giggled.

“Terrible,” Ilsa agreed, a hand absentmindedly placed on her belly in the way pregnant women often do without realising. “So uhm... there is something I wanted to tell you without the boys listening, because no one knows,” Robin nodded, frowning lightly. “It’s common knowledge that before I married Nick, I was engaged to a fellow lawyer that I ended up leaving for Nick, but what no one knows, not even in my family, is that this ex-fiancé of mine abused me psychologically,” Robin’s eyes widened and Ilsa nodded slowly. “I never told anyone and neither I lied about it, simply because I didn’t feel the need to talk about it. I didn’t want to upset anyone and once I was with Nick, who’s a whole other world, I knew I’d be alright, he’s always made me so happy I didn’t even think about my ex anymore. I was alright, doing things perfectly fine and being incredibly happy, and hopefully that’s how things will always be for us. But now that this is happening to you...” Ilsa sighed. “I want you to know that you’re not alone, for real. That I know part of what it is like and even though I let my ex get away with it, I won’t let Matthew get away with this. With my ex, it was the late nineties and psychological abuse wasn’t really order of the day, so not even I really knew what that was, and it was years before I understood I should’ve never gotten engaged to that guy in the first place and that the things he did weren’t right, I told Nick some of them so he probably knows what it was better than me and hasn’t felt the need to mention it either, but this is 2011 now. And I’m not about to let a son of a bitch get away with punching his wife, Robin, and with all else he’s done. That also means that I’m not about to leave you in the lurch, so anything you need, anything at all, please, count on me. I mean it fully, okay?”

Robin looked at her intently for a moment before nodding.

“Thank you, Ilsa. It really means a lot.” Ilsa shrugged.

“I guess it comes with being a lawyer but... one really wishes to change the world,” Ilsa commented with a small smile. “You know, have one without people like my ex, or Charlotte, or Matthew, or the guys Leda used to date, that were all...” Ilsa shook her head in denial. Robin snorted a laugh.

“Things will be better. Those little ones will be part of the improving,” Robin pointed at Ilsa’s belly with a chuckle and Ilsa nodded, patting her belly with a smile. “Do you know the genders already?”

“Two girls and a boy,” said Ilsa proudly. “I must admit I was hoping for two boys and a girl, because I’m not very good with fellow ladies but...” she shrugged. “Whatever, we’ve been blessed, you know? They can be half dinosaurs if they want.” She joked. Robin giggled a little.

“Have you thought any names?”

“We aren’t set on any yet...” answered Ilsa. “I think the only thing we knew for sure from the moment one is that Cormoran’s the godfather. You know, even if he’s a mess with children and doesn’t quite like them, we’ll force these on him a little.” She commented sneaky.

“Why doesn’t he like children?” Robin asked. She thought it was strange than a man who always had a soft eye for the innocent things wouldn’t like children. Ilsa let a long sigh out.

“I don’t think it’s really that he dislikes them that much. I mean, he’s neat and organised, you know him, so he obviously dislikes the dirt and mess that usually comes along with kids, he doesn’t want them drooling on him or dirtying his clothes with food,” Ilsa snorted a laugh. “But I think his big problem with them is that he has no idea how to communicate with them. So he’s actually half-good with babies, for what I saw when Lucy had her boys, but once they become children... he curses and has a very +18 job, he doesn’t know what to tell them, and then he ends up talking about what he knows, that’s war, and some like Jack love it and then Lucy gets pissed off so... I think the only way he can like children is as if they can act as mini adults,” Ilsa shrugged. Robin rolled eyes and chuckled. “But is true he never wanted to have children. Never, and I’ve known him for over thirty years. He doesn’t understand our passion about them either. I think he likes his life organised as it is and doesn’t want it disturbed, he likes not to have to plan sex, for example. And I think a part of him doesn’t want to bring children into a world so full of shit. Do you like children?”

“Yeah well, I have some talent for them,” said Robin. “Matthew and I always thought about a house and children and I think I would want kids, but not too many and only when the moment is right, you know? I like the idea of raising up little humans and laughing with their antics and learning from them, and I like the idea that when I’m an old lady, there’ll still be family left. I come from a big family, so... I guess wanting kids is part of it,” Robin chuckled. “But yeah, not so many. Certainly not four like my parents.” Ilsa chuckled.

“Well, I’m going to head to bed before Nick comes to fetch me, you must be exhausted,” Ilsa got up and squeezed her good hand lightly. “Nick gets up at six to go bicycling or jogging, if you want to join him. He usually makes breakfast when he comes back.”

“I think I’ll sleep until noon tomorrow though. Well, I do have to work,” Robin groaned. Ilsa giggled.

“I think Cormoran will allow you another day off?”

“No, I do want to come back. It’s been so long,” Robin shrugged. “Besides, who doesn’t want to be babied by Cormoran for a full day?” she added with a hint of sarcasm and a giggle. Ilsa snorted.

“Goodnight Robin, call if you need anything.”

“Goodnight, thank you!”

**. . .**

Strike was barely able to sleep all night, dreaming about Matthew and Robin with the wildness his life experiences allowed. He finally got up very early in the morning and got shaven and dressed, eating a quick breakfast before going downstairs to the office right before nine. He felt knackered after the emotional exhaustion from the day before, and upon arriving to the inner office, tea in hand, he almost didn’t know why his desk was moved aside and there was another desk beside his. Strike sat on his desk looking at Robin’s with a light frown, wondering how it would be to have her there. There were some things already on her desk; folder holder, a cordless phone, a box of paper sheets, a pen holder with some pens, and a lamp, and Strike had already left there the folder with all the stuff from Anthony Matheson’s case.

At exactly five minutes to nine, Strike jumped from his seat, where he was re-reading the folder of Larissa Kylor-Jones’ case and taking notes, hearing the key in the locket. He stood expectantly, hearing Robin’s steps, and then there was a knock in the inner door and it opened, revealing Robin. She was beautiful in her blouse and skirt, and she smiled softly at him. Her face was looking much better.

“Good-morning,” Robin saluted with a soft voice, coming inside.

“Morning,” Strike looked at her intently. “How are you doing?” he asked then, as Robin flopped on her chair and put her laptop bag on her desk.

“I’m okay, you?” Robin asked pulling her laptop from her bag and settling it on the table.

“Okay,” Strike nodded. “I left you the folder right there for the Matheson thing.” Robin nodded, extending a hand to it and starting to read it while her laptop turned on.

“Good,” said Robin after a while. “Do we have any interviews with secretaries scheduled for today?”

“Uhm...” Strike didn’t want to confess that he was silently expecting her to take charge of it and he tried to come up with a way to say it nicely, making her feel great about it, if possible. “I was just thinking that, since you’ve been the only secretary I’ve ever had for so long, perhaps you’re the most indicated to know what we need. I need someone who can do half of what you did with... I’m not expecting for anyone to reach your level of perfection at the job, but near?” He blushed a little. “I thought you’d know better who was fitter for the job than I do. I saw we got some curriculums sent to the email so perhaps you could check it out?” Robin looked at him briefly, with a blank expression, before nodding slowly.

“You want me to do it,” Strike bit his lip nervously.

“I mean, I’ll of course love to take a look, obviously, I was just thinking you should have the final word. Only if you want, of course,” he added, insecure, seeing her strange expression. She nodded again very briefly and looked at her screen. After typing for a moment, she turned back to Strike.

“What was the email password again?” she asked with a light frown. Strike looked surprised, but answered her. Robin wrote it down on a post-it. “And... the user...?” she added, not looking at him. Again he answered and she wrote it down. Then they sat in silence for a while, Strike making more notes and thinking of possible lines of investigation and Robin checking her email. Strike knew a mild-concussion wasn’t to joke with, so he kept glancing at her with certain frequency. He was hoping for her to be light with work for a few days, with the excuse of being her first week back. Strike also knew that was the same reason why she wouldn’t take a ‘why don’t you rest a little?’

“At which time are your parents arriving?” asked Strike then as he brought second mugs of tea into the office.

“Uh?” Robin looked transfixed, her chin on her fist.

“Your parents,” repeated Strike, putting the mug on her desk and standing looking at her. She looked lost.

“What with my parents?”

“Weren’t they coming here today?”

“Today?” Robin frowned. “Why?” Strike frowned with sudden deep concern.

“Robin, Matthew hit you yesterday, remember? Your mum called and said she and your father would be here today in the morning, in the train. Are you feeling alright?” Robin’s eyes widened and she stood up.

“Shit, yeah, of course! I forgot, I was so into this...” Robin gestured to the laptop. “Thank heavens for your memory...” she checked her watch. “Mum texted me this morning saying they’d be here for lunch, so I’ll have to nip out for that, take them somewhere nice or something. Will you be alright all here on your own?”

“Of course,” Strike chuckled, breathing calm. “I’ll just tell any new clients to come another day when the good-with-people person is back.” He joked. Robin rolled eyes and chuckled.

“I’ll see you later then, keep an eye out for secretaries, will you?”

“Yes ma’am!” Robin threw him a ball of paper that he avoided for little and he heard her giggles as she left the office. Strike realised then the ball of paper were actually adjectives the secretary had to have.

Robin hadn’t been gone for long when Strike heard a knock on the glass door and then it opened again.

“Hello?” an unknown female voice came. Strike rushed to attend it, opening the door to face a very young lady, tall and curvy, with an innocent face, sad dark green eyes, and long, curly dark hair. She had a heart-shaped face and thick eyebrows delicately trimmed. She looked at him with wide eyes. She was clutching a bag crossed over her chest in diagonal. “Are you Cormoran Strike?”

“That’s me,” Strike nodded. She looked oddly familiar. “Do I know you?” She looked nervous and shook her head, making him frown lightly.

 

 


	10. Catwoman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Strike gets a new secretary

“I’m Alexandra Wright,” said the girl then, moving to offer him her hand. He shook it, surprised by how firmly she shook his hand, the strength she had. “I’ve always lived in Southampton so we can’t possibly have met.”

“I suppose,” Strike nodded. “So how can I help you, Ms Wright?” She looked like the newbie of any company, nervous and lost. Strike wondered if she had money to pay him properly.

“I saw your add about needing a secretary,” Alexandra said with sudden security. “I want to be your secretary. Here’s my curriculum.” Alexandra shoved her hand on her bag and pulled out a neatly laminated page, that she handed to Strike. Her curriculum was brief and basically stated she had just quit a degree in Ancient History by, to Strike’s surprise, the University of Oxford, after only her first year.

“How old are you, eighteen?” Strike asked frowning. She wasn’t in the descriptions of a ‘mature, responsible person, who can defend herself and accept the possible risks of the job’ that Robin had scribbled down in the paper. 

“Nineteen next month,” said Alexandra quickly.

“Oxford, uh?” Strike nodded in surprise. “I went to Oxford.”

“I know,” she replied quickly again. She seemed sharp, question-answer. Strike raised his eyebrows surprised. “I’m a very curious person, I saw you on the newspapers about the Shacklewell Ripper case, and I read all there is to read about you in the libraries.” No internet? Strike wondered for himself. “I saw you came to Oxford too, I asked some teachers about you even, nice curriculum, they only said great things about you,” added Alexandra very matter-of-factly. “Dropped University, became amputee in Afghanistan, and now this,” she motioned around.

“I see,” Strike gave her a circumstantial look. “I’m sorry Ms Wright, but you’re too young for this job.”

“I’m off age,” argued Alexandra stubbornly. “I can work, I’ve worked every summer here and there since I was sixteen, I’ve got experience. I’m smart, I’m organised, those are qualities you’ll need of a secretary, right? I speak fluently Latin, English, French, Spanish, Italian and German, I’ve got an excellent memory...”

“All of that is very impressive,” Strike admitted, interrupting her rant. “But this job isn’t always easy, alright? Being a secretary here is very different from being a secretary anywhere else. Here, some clients come very altered, they get incredibly angry, hitting things, shouting around, or incredibly hurt because they’ve, for example, been cheated on, and then they’re a mess. And once, a serial killer came here and tried to kill me, if my secretary had been here right then she could’ve been killed too. If you followed the Laing case, you know my secretary, now partner, was followed around and her life was threatened. I can’t have an eighteen year old here because the job can get too dangerous for someone so young, regardless of how impressive your curriculum is, I’m sorry. What are your parents going to think?”

“My family’s dead,” said Alexandra harshly. Strike was speechless for a moment. “That’s why I need this job so badly, okay?” she snapped. “I’ve got no money. I sold my house and everything I could to be able to afford coming to London all the way from Southampton. I’ve quit University so I can start having real jobs...”

“We pay shit. We’ve got two clients right now.”

“I don’t care, okay?!” Alexandra scowled at him. Strike was a bit taken aback by her fierceness. “I’m a black belt in Taekwondo, I can defend myself. I want this job, and I know you will be capable of paying me well when you’ve got clients enough. You’re going to need me to have clients enough, won’t you? And look,” Alexandra continued ranting. “For what you said, people won’t be punching each other to get this job, right? But I am begging, Mr. Strike. I don’t like to beg, and I don’t play pity, but truth is I really need this job and I’ve come all the way here for it. I’ve got no one left and I need to make a living, alright? And you’re standing there being a prick when you could just say yes! Give me a chance and if you regret it, you can always fire me, Jesus.” She was angry and Strike almost felt like laughing. The girl had temper and it was like an angry kitten. On the other hand, if Robin had taught Strike anything, it was to never underestimate women. Alexandra took his silence badly and puffed angrily, ripping her curriculum from his hands and storming to get the door. “Fine,” she grumbled, glaring at him. “I’ll get my ass back to Southampton. I hope you can sleep alright knowing you made a young girl sleep on the street, no one will give me a job in this fucking town and any of these days I’m going to get kidnapped and raped,” she was sobbing now, to Strike’s disbelief. “It will be in your conscience, Mr Strike, you have no soul, no mercy for poor Alexandra!” She was about to shut the door.

“Alright you’re hired! Fuck Christ...” Strike puffed looking around in disbelief. Why was he hiring a mental woman?

“Yes!” Tears were suddenly vanished and Alexandra jumped, grinned, and stormed back inside. “You won’t regret it Mr Strike, I’m the best secretary you could’ve afforded...”

“Those tears were fake right?” Strike looked at her half-amazed.

“I told you I am smart and that I can defend myself,” Alexandra stated standing straight, almost as tall as Robin, her eyes fierce. Strike felt like he could fear her a little if she was already so wicked. Strike nodded with a sigh.

“Please promise me you’re not absolutely mental...” Alexandra giggled, and Strike felt lighter seeing her smile, for some reason.

“We’re all a little crazy,” her voice was soft and warm and reminded Strike of someone, but he really didn’t know who. Alexandra bit her lip guiltily. “I’m sorry I lied with the tears, I promise I’m a very honest person, I just cross lines when I really need something. But I won’t lie to you anymore, you’re a detective, you’d catch me anyways... And I swear everything I told you is true,” she shrugged, biting her lip softly as she looked at him straight in the eye. Normally girls, especially that young, would be intimidated by Strike’s looks and size, but this didn’t seem the case for Alexandra. “I was raised by my grandparents, but they passed away about a month ago. I have no one else. I uh... thank you for the chance, Mr Strike. You won’t regret it, I mean it.” She offered him her hand again and Strike shook it, still a little impressed. “So, I can start right now. Should I sit and wait for clients?” she added, pointing to the desk.”

“I’ll go get the contract and I’ll explain you everything, I suppose.”

**. . .**

“I think you’ll like her, she has a ‘don’t you fucking underestimate me’ element that’s very you-like,” said Strike to the phone pressed against his ear. He was talking with Robin.

“She tricked you, you know?”

“You’ve got to admit she’s smart then.” Robin sighed.

“Alright... And I appreciate you spared me from having to interview all candidates...” said Robin. “Do you really think she’s good?”

“I called Oxford, some of my old teachers still work there, and a couple had known Alexandra and said she’s brilliant. I saw her grades Robin, it’s top grades in everything, I mean, how hard-working is that?”

“I’ve got to admit is kind of impressive,” admitted Robin. “And remembering my first impression with you I’m surprised she dared to be so fierce.”

“Right?” Strike snorted. “And she describes herself as fluent in Latin, Robin. Latin! Plus Spanish, French, Italian and German. Like, who is this girl? An alien?”

“Okay don’t make me jealous now,” joked Robin as she sat with her parents for lunch at a restaurant. Strike sniggered. “We’ll see how long it passes before we catch her on the phone.”

“I haven’t seen her pull it out in all five times I’ve gone to see if she had everything handled. I’ve always caught her deep in the reading of our case files, she’s even going through the old ones to learn our way of organising things and working, apparently. She’s already picked-up a good part of our methods, bought biscuits, dusted the desk and drawers and well, she’s giving me a hell of a déjà-vu. I’ve got to go handle Larissa Kylor-Jones’ ex-husband, but I’m taking Alexandra with me, still don’t trust her alone in the office. We’ll see, she’s on probation.”

“Well, if she really is in such a complicated situation, I’m glad we’re helping each other.”

“Yeah... I’ll call you later okay? Have fun with your parents.”

“Thanks, tell me whatever you find out!”

Strike hung up and walked to the outer office. Alexandra was sitting in front of the computer scribbling something on a sheet of paper. Upon seeing him, she jumped off her seat and rushed to him, handling him the paper.

“I’ve been researching all I could find about Jacob Gerritson, Ms Kylor-Jones ex-husband. He’s a music producer in Hammersmith. I also found out everything I could about Roland Alles-Stewart, the guy Anthony Matheson asked you to see if he was doing his job right. He’s an expert IT and he often puts tweets anti-monarchy, so he’s going to get in some mess, but aside from that I didn’t see anything odd,” she passed her several pages with the rest of the information. Strike looked astonished.

“I didn’t ask you to do that, I already know those things,” Strike looked at the paper. “Wait I don’t know _these_...”

“I’m sorry if I overstepped, I like to be efficient.” Said Alexandra blushing, taken aback.

“Absolutely not, this is great Ms Wright, this is bloody brilliant. Gerritson has an ex-girlfriend who claimed he was violent, I didn’t find this out,” Strike still struggled a little with Google. Alexandra smiled.

“So it’s useful?”

“Yes. Come, you’re coming with me.”

“Don’t you need someone here?” asked Alexandra. Strike looked around.

“First you need to see what the job is about. We’re going to meet Ms Kylor-Jones’ children. They’re eight and seven and I’m awful with children, what about you?”

“Oh, I’m great, but limited experience,” Alexandra shut down the computer and took her bag, rushing behind him. Strike locked the door and the two walked to the tube, Alexandra walking fast behind him.

As the two travelled in the tube, Strike guiding her through the unexplored ups and downs of London’s below earth’s world, Strike looked at Alexandra frequently, seeing how she had eyes avid of curiosity, looking at every person, building and landscape very intently. At no point did she pull a mobile from her pocket.

They finally made it to St. Luke’s and walked following Strike’s phone’s GPS to the luxurious attic in the last floor of a tall building, where Ms Kylor-Jones lived with her children.

“These people have money,” said Alexandra surprised looking up at the façade and whistling in admiration as they stood in front of the building entrance. “Never had I ever had so much money.”

“Me neither,” said Strike as they went inside the building. “Most of our clients are a bit snobbish, some more than others,” explained Strike pushing the lift button. “They’re the only ones who can afford us, most of the time.” Alexandra nodded.

“Let’s get these children to safety then...”

After a quick chat with Ms Kylor-Jones sitting on her luxurious sofa with mugs of tea, the middle-aged woman brought in her two brunette sons.

“Kids, this is Detective Strike and his assistant, Ms Wright. They’re here to find out if daddy is treating you two good so I can make sure he does, alright?” Ms Kylor-Jones was kind and warm with her sons, letting them sit on her lap. “This is Kyle,” she rubbed the eldest’s brown hair. “And this one is Henry.”

“Hi,” said Strike, forcing a smile. Alexandra smiled sincerely. “So, boys, we would need to know if your father has ever... made you feel uncomfortable. I don’t know, does he hit you?” Strike lacked delicacy for those things and was shit with children, and the boys seemed too intimidated with him to even speak.

“Why don’t you let me handle this?” Alexandra murmured to Strike’s ear before smiling at the boys. “Hi you two, I’m Ali. Is that Spiderman in your tee, Henry?” she asked pointing at it. The kid looked at his t-shirt and nodded. “It’s so cool, did you two see the new Captain America movie already? It just came out the other day.”

“Mummy said she’ll take us to see it on Friday after tennis,” said Kyle with a small smile.

“God, I’m so jealous!” Alexandra grinned. “Who’s your favourite superhero?” Strike had absolutely zero idea what they were talking about, and Ms Kylor-Jones looked surprised and glad.

“Spiderman!” Henry shouted excitedly.

“Batman!” added Kyle. “He’s got a cape and the coolest car!”

“That he does!” Alexandra agreed. “But Spiderman can jump like a badass from building to building, so they’re both quite incredible.”

“Spiderman does like shh!” Henry pretended to be throwing a net to a wall and Alexandra sniggered. “I wanna be Spiderman!”

“Who would your mummy be?” Alexandra asked looking at Ms Kylor-Jones thoughtfully. “Superwoman?”

“Yes!” the boys giggled.

“And daddy?” Alexandra added.

“Hulk,” Henry giggled.

“He’s not very strong though,” added Kyle, giggling. Alexandra’s eyes widened and she nodded.

“Oh, what a cool superhero family!” Alexandra admired. “Well mummy said today Mr Strike and I will walk you to tennis, so what do you say if you run get your things and we get going?” the boys nodded and ran, cheering.

“Oh they like you, they don’t like people easily,” said Ms Kylor-Jones impressed.

“It’s all very good but we were supposed to have them tell us about their father before we go,” said Strike with a teaching voice.

“Oh but we did!” Alexandra smiled. “They said he’s Hulk. Stereotypically, Hulk is basically a normal man who becomes a monster when he’s really angry, which happens with relative frequency. He’s also incredibly strong when he becomes Hulk, but Kyle said he isn’t really strong, which means they just think of a father as a very angry, scary man.” Strike looked at her, amazed.

“Good job.” Alexandra grinned, satisfied.

Strike had talked with Ms Kylor-Jones and they had agreed on taking the boys to tennis without her so, if the father came around, he wouldn’t feel scared with Ms Kylor-Jones around and he wouldn’t run, giving them the chance of catching him. Strike had been dreading it, until he saw how Alexandra was with children; the three were excitedly talking about superheroes the entire way to tennis, and when they finally left them with the tennis teacher, they were high-fiving Alexandra like old-time best friends.

“Alright,” said Alexandra after waving the boys goodbye, looking at Strike. “Is it the creepy man hidden behind a parked truck five meters behind me?” Strike’s eyes widened. How had she seen him, if she seemed all focused on the boys?

“Yeah,” Strike nodded. “He doesn’t know me, but he’s looking at us weird.”

“Sure, because he’s trying to figure out the hell we are bringing his children here right?” asked Alexandra.

“Exactly. We should stay around, observe, see if he does anything reproachable aside from stalking the boys.”

“Let’s sit in the bar, pretend we’re watching the game.”

The outdoor venue had a small bar near the tennis pitch, where the parents were sitting to watch the kids playing tennis. Strike and Alexandra sat there and Strike bought them beers. Jacob Gerritson had stayed outside the venue, in the street. Alexandra and Strike barely talked with drinking their cokes –since they didn’t drink alcohol at work-, both too preoccupied watching the boys, during the rest of the hour. Then, the class ended and the boys announced they were going to the bathroom for a moment. Their mother would be there to pick them up any time soon.

“I should go with them,” said Strike finishing his coke in one gulp and getting up.

“I’ll go, you should check if Gerritson is still outside or is safe to go out.” Said Alexandra. Strike nodded in agreement and they parted in different directions. However, when Strike got to the street, he didn’t see Gerritson anywhere. He looked around, but he had definitely left, so Strike walked back inside the venue.

After asking around where the changing rooms were, he received indications to go upstairs and after climbing the stairs and still panting, Strike walked through a large corridor. Then he heard screaming children and a big thud and he ran, turning around the corner in another corridor and seeing Alexandra sitting on the ass of Gerritson, whose nose was bleeding profusely against the ground. She was panting, but looked alright. Henry and Kyle stood nearby.

“Finally!” Alexandra saw him. “I caught this arse shouting at the boys to come with him, he was going to kidnap them. Then he tried to hit me so...” she shrugged. Strike walked to them, impressed, ignoring Gerritson’s attempts of asking for help and calling Alexandra crazy.

“She was amazing!” Kyle beamed.

“Catwoman!” added Henry excitedly.

 


	11. Family conversations

Strike led Alexandra into the office. It was late afternoon and they had just had lunch together to celebrate Gerritson’s arrest after the boys had recounted to Alexandra, in the presence of police, Strike and their mother, that Gerritson was often aggressive and insulting with them, throwing things at them and slapping them for no reason. Ms Kylor-Jones had been so grateful she had paid double, and now they were officially down to one case. Strike had called Robin on the way to having lunch with Alexandra to inform her of everything, and Robin had been more than impressed.

“Where are you staying?” asked Strike as they sat drinking tea.

“I rented a small flat in Whitechapel,” said Alexandra. “Is not much, but it’s enough.” Strike nodded.

“I lived in Whitechapel. Not so expensive.” Alexandra nodded. “Are you going to be alright?” added Strike with some concern. She was, after all, almost a child in his eyes.

“Oh, yeah, I know how to look after myself. But thanks.”

“Wait here a moment,” Strike walked into the inner office and came back after a bit with an envelope he gave to Alexandra.

“What’s this?” Alexandra asked taking it.

“Your June salary,” said Strike. Alexandra frowned and then her eyes widened seeing a thousand and five hundred pounds in the envelope.

“I can’t accept...”

“Take it, I hate arguing,” said Strike. Then sighed. “Look, I know what it is to have little to nothing. I can afford giving you an extra month of salary, London is expensive, you’re going to need some for transport and your work today has been impressive. Eat a nice dinner. Take care of yourself. Come back tomorrow.” Alexandra looked at him, touched, and almost hugged him. She nodded putting them inside her backpack.

“Thank you so much, Mr Strike.” Strike nodded.

“Now tell me the truth and nothing but the truth,” said Strike. “Is there any parents you’re running away from or something?” he asked nailing his eyes on her. Alexandra shook her head.

“No, I told you the truth. My mum died at birth, I never met her. My father’s family never knew of me, my maternal grandparents took my mum far from where they lived to start over, they didn’t want their neighbours to know their teenage daughter had gotten pregnant. They didn’t want them to call her whore or something, you know?” Alexandra shrugged. “She was younger than I am and died giving birth to me, so my grandparents raised me. I was a happy kid, but they died in a car accident at the end of June. They left me a good will, I’m the only one inheriting, so I can afford living here for a few months, but I knew I needed a job or else I’d go broke soon. I had a scholarship in Oxford, but Oxford is not going to pay my meals and holidays, you know? So I had to drop-out. I had seen you in the news around and I always liked stories, investigation... and I’ve always wanted to come to London, my grandparents were from here and told me such cool things of it... so I thought perhaps you’d give me a job. I read about you and you seemed like you’d understand my situation, since...” she shrugged. Strike nodded in understanding. “People just don’t want to hire a nineteen-year-old with zero experience who dropped out of Oxford, they think I’m in drugs or something.”

“Well,” Strike let a long sigh out and patted her knee as they sat beside each other in the farting sofa. “If it serves you of any consolation, everyone here is a little fucked-up and this job is pretty much all three of us’ life-jacket. So welcome aboard.” Alexandra chuckled.

“You’re definitely a sea man.” Strike snorted.

“Go before I become fond of you,” Strike growled jokingly, and Alexandra laughing, waving goodbye.

“Night boss!” Strike rolled his eyes and checked his watch. Time to go have dinner at the Herberts’ with Robin’s parents.

**. . .**

Strike made it to dinner a little late after deciding to stop Alexandra and accompany her to the flat himself, not leaving until she was safely inside her flat. Whitechapel was, however, in the opposite direction from Wandsworth, which was what made him a tiny bit late, but he finally appeared at the Herberts with a bottle of wine and the detail of a bottle of Ilsa’s favourite juicy beverage from her favourite place, completely non-alcoholic for the pregnant woman.

“Hi, sorry I’m late,” Strike shouted entering the house with his own key. He heard laughter from the table and found the Herberts and the Ellacotts deep in conversation. He blushed upon seeing Robin, whose face looked way better behind some make-up that covered the bruising, and was wearing a pretty but simple dress. “I brought wine and juice.” He added showing the bottles.

While Nick served new cups of wine and put Ilsa a big glass of her beverage, Strike shook the Ellacott’s hands and smiled at Robin sitting next to her.

“Hi you,” Robin smiled at her. “So had fun with our new secretary?”

“You know what? She reminds me an awful lot of you, I had constant déjà vu. She’s bloody efficient, is like you gave her a course or something,” praised Strike. “And you should’ve seen the nose of that guy, she broke it and sunk it. He’s going to need surgery.” He was obviously fascinated and Robin chuckled taking a sip of her wine. “How’s your head?”

“Still fine,” replied Robin. “As it has been the thousand times you’ve been asking me through your texting all day. I’m just slightly forgetful today and is a bit hard to focus in tasks, but it’s alright. Could be worse.” Strike nodded.

“So Robin said this new eighteen-year-old secretary of yours kicked the ass of a child molester?” Ilsa looked curious.

“The father of some kids, he’s aggressive with them,” explained Strike. “And yes, Alexandra went and kicked him on the face. She’s a Taekwondo black belt, no kidding. And she’s wonderful with children, thank God, because they were more scared of me than of their dad.” Linda giggled. “She’s also got some psychology moves. Interrogated the children about their father by simply talking about Marvel.”

“You said she did Ancient History?” asked Robin, thinking she might’ve forgotten or misunderstood, with her concussion.

“She did, but she seems the kind of curious person who just absorbs any information she gets her hands onto. She’s excited about meeting you, by the way. I told her about your own merits over lunch.” Robin blushed, but looked grateful.

“So you told her I crashed a taxi against a building?” she jokingly teased.

“And that I made you pick up poo, obviously, so she knows what to expect,” Strike followed along sniggering. Everyone except Robin, who erupted in laughter, grimaced. “Anyway, what have you guys been up to? Did your daughter take you to the pretty sides of London?” Strike added looking at Robin’s parents.

“We saw some nice parks indeed, and the restaurant was marvellous,” Michael nodded.

Conversation flew easily in the table and after dinner, they retired to the three-piece suit and talked about football, Masham, and anything that came to mind. Linda was just admiring the photographs on the TV unit furniture with a cup of wine in her hand when she picked up a small framed picture.

“Oh, is this you in school, Nick?” Linda asked with her daughter’s curiosity and a small smile looking at the picture. “Oh, and Cormoran right here!”

“Ah, yeah,” Nick stood up to take a look, and sniggered. “Comprehensive in Hackney, that photo is twenty-years-old, I still had a head full of hair. It was uh, for Christmas I believe.” Strike stood up too to see it.

“God, look at us, so tiny...” Strike chuckled.

“More like look at everyone so tiny and you about as big,” Linda giggled. “I almost don’t see difference really.”

“Well thank you Linda,” Strike laughed.

“Pass it to me I wanna see!” demanded Robin, and Linda complied. Robin sniggered with the tip of her tongue coming between her teeth in a way that made Strike stare a beat too long. “You had a good nineties’ mane of hair Nick!” Nick chuckled sitting next to his wife again. “Oh, who’s this blondie _holding your hand_ , Mr Strike?” She asked teasingly.

“Jesus,” Strike sighed flopping on the sofa. “That’s Olivia Gavenier, my first ever girlfriend. We were together three months before she vanished.”

“Aww...” said Robin. “That bad were you?” She teased with a small laugh, seeing Strike snort a laugh.

“No idea, twenty years and I’ve never known what happened to her, and I did investigate it once when I was in the military,” said Strike. Robin frowned a little.

“Yeah, one day she was in class, the next, Ms McHoward informed us her family had left the city,” commented Nick. “Some of us teased Oggy for weeks, didn’t we? Until he threatened with shoving our heads in the toilet.”

“I would’ve, it got tiring,” said Strike with mock threat. “I tried calling her, writing to her, going to her house... but they vanished from Earth. And two weeks later I found someone else to distract me so...” He raised an eyebrow and Nick laughed.

“What a heart-breaker,” Robin snorted putting the photograph back in its place. “It’s so weird to think I was what, seven back then? And you guys were already in middle school...”

“You make me feel old!” Ilsa chuckled.

Olivia forgotten, the conversation went on to teasing each-other and mocking for a while. Then Nick pulled out the good whisky, since they were a little tipsy anyway, and Robin joined Ilsa for juice, not feeling like her head would admit such a large amount of alcohol. Strike looked almost sober, surprising no-one.

“Oggy’s my alcohol-gauge,” Nick commented jokingly, “I know we’ve had too much when he can’t walk straight.” They laughed at that and Strike blushed slightly, taking a sip from the whisky.

“Ilsa, I meant to ask you,” commented Michael. “Any idea when’s Matthew’s trial?”

“I don’t even know if there will be a trial as such,” said Ilsa, leant back against the cushions. “I know his family hired a lawyer with some popularity, who called me and we commented the possibility of reaching a formal agreement and avoiding big, long, judicial procedures, which made me think he doesn’t have much faith on his client, but the Cunliffes have yet to decide their strategy. Personally I’m thinking we’ll wind up in court in a few weeks. Matthew refuses to confess and keeps saying, for what I’ve heard, that it was Robin who hit him in the first place, trying to twist things around.”

“What a dick,” Nick frowned.

“But can he get away with it?” Linda frowned, preoccupied.

“I doubt it,” Ilsa shrugged. “Perhaps if he hadn’t made the mistake of going to Cormoran’s afterwards, yes, but with his behaviour he just showed himself as unstable, jealous, angry... And that without mentioning all the things he did before he was even married. He pretty much condemned himself. I was worried at first because the law still has a lot to do for domestic abuse to be properly dealt with, but Matthew is making things very easy for us. He’s saved me tons of work so far.”

“That’s Matthew, always so kind,” Robin mocked with a snort.

“Will he go to prison then?” asked Linda. Ilsa nodded.

“Well, problem is, legislation as for right now says that domestic violence is not more serious than any other kind, when reality is that of course it is,” lamented Ilsa. “Like I said, law still has a lot of progress left to do. But I’d say perhaps we can get them a year, two... and then he’d bail out. Is not perfect, but I highly doubt we can get anything else simply because law doesn’t contemplate it, which is why I advised for restraining orders, and even then... I’d keep an eye out. Law says twenty-six months in prison, tops, for category 1 assault, which is why law says this is, I call it bullshit but well, unfortunately I don’t make the laws. And it’ll probably be less than 26 months because they will say it was a one-time thing, that he lost control, and the typical stuff.”

“So I should’ve broken his face then,” Strike blurted out. “Would’ve been fairer and I would’ve barely paid for it.”

“Cormoran, you’re not dropping to his level,” said Robin sternly. “We deal with things in the proper way, and if he ever comes across again, I will make sure it’s the last time.”

“At least it looks like you gave him a concussion too,” said Nick. “A mate from Hammersmith hospital told me he attended Matthew for one. He recognised him because like ten minutes before I had told him to let me know if a man with his name and a broken nose came around.”

“Well-deserved,” grumbled Strike.

Before leaving the house to accompany Michael and Linda to their hotel and then head home, Strike knocked on Robin’s bedroom as the redheaded was just getting ready for bed. Strike’s dark eyes fixed on Robin’s blue-gray ones and he smiled just a tiny bit, his eyes lingering on the short pyjama trousers she was wearing just for a moment.

“I’ll be going now... see you tomorrow?” asked Strike. He didn’t know if Robin was truly feeling up for work or just there because she couldn’t have the patience to wait until she felt better.

“Sure,” Robin nodded. “Goodnight Cormoran.”

“Goodnight.”

 

 

 


	12. The love child

In the morning, Strike was surprised to arrive at the office to find Robin and Alexandra already deep in conversation and sipping tea as Robin sat on a corner of Alexandra’s desk. His eyes widened at their greeting and he checked his watch, his face still bed-soft, to make sure he wasn’t late.

“It’s not even nine yet,” said Strike matter-of-factly.

“Good observation,” mocked Alexandra with a chuckle, before looking at Robin again. “So knee to the groin and then elbow to the shoulder-blade right?” Strike rose his eyebrows but expected no clarification about their conversation on, apparently, street-fighting, and went on to fill his ‘I heart Cornwall’ mug with tea before going to his office and almost moaned at smelling Robin’s scent already lingering in the room.

Flopping on his chair at his desk, he was surprised yet again at seeing a sheet of paper on his desk with neat handwriting.

‘ _TASKS FOR THURSDAY, JULY 21_ _ST_ _2011 – CORMORAN STRIKE_

_9:30 meeting with possible client Alexis Knopper._

_10:15 meeting with possible client Bernadette Hacker._

_11:00 meeting with possible client Yvanna Alder._

_11:45 going for lunch._

_12:00 (ish) lunch break._

_13:00 meeting with possible client Oscar Elliott._

_13:45 end of meetings._

_14:00 start with cases picked during the day._

_17:00 you may go home._

_*meetings must only last 35-40 minutes so you can have a break in-between to refocus your attention.’_

Strike’s eyebrows were at his hairline and he frowned lightly. His day was scheduled to the last minute of the standard working hours (that he usually exceeded) before he was even inside the office. They had four possible clients on one day only in his side. How had that even happened if Alexandra hadn’t been working for a day yet, when had she picked the calls? And he looked at the timings: maximum 45 minutes for clients, which was exactly the span of concentration science said people have, with a thought to have breaks in-between to ‘refocus’ and an hour of lunch break scheduled. Alexandra was not only trying to care for the agency, but caring for  _his_ health.

“Who is this girl?” Strike murmured to himself. Then, out of curiosity, he looked at Robin’s desk, getting up to read her paper sheet.

‘ _TASKS FOR THURSDAY, JULY 21_ _ST_ _2011 – ROBIN ELLACOTT’_

Strike was already stunned Alexandra had known to use her maiden name.

‘ _9:30 visit Anthony Matheson’s company (directions on the other side of the sheet)._

_11:00 start ‘work day’ infiltrated in Mr Matheson’s company._

_12:30 Mr Matheson’s company’s lunch break._

_15:00 come back to the office._

_16:15 expected arrival at the office for last discussions about the day of work with Mr Strike._

_17:00 you may go home.’_

Astonished and pleased, Strike went back to the outer office, taking a sip of his tea, and looked at Alexandra as if she belonged to an unknown alien species.

“Ms Wright...”

“Ali, please. Robin already told me you’re not so formal here,” Alexandra smiled. Strike nodded.

“Ali, when did all those possible clients happen?”

“The phone hasn’t stopped ringing since seven, you already have a few meetings tomorrow too. I didn’t think it was okay to put more on today, you’ll end up confusing cases or going mad,” said Alexandra matter-of-factly. Then the phone rang as if to prove her point. “Strike and Ellacott’s office, Secretary Alexandra speaking. Good morning, how can I help you?” She said all polite. Strike looked at Robin, shocked, and she giggled.

“She’s been here since seven?” Strike murmured.

“She thought since we were down to one client yesterday, the sooner she came the sooner she might be able to catch some more,” Robin shrugged. “Truth is we’ve barely been here to attend the phone, it might’ve ringed a lot.”

They observed as Alexandra annotated things on what seemed like a brand new agenda and politely wished a good day before hanging up.

“Robin, I squeezed you another meeting tomorrow if that’s alright,” said Alexandra.

“Sure,” Robin nodded. “Question, how come the phone’s ringing so much? I don’t ever remember something like this.”

“Oh...” Alexandra paled. “I might’ve taken the liberty of creating a website and social accounts and promoting the agency. Don’t worry, I didn’t spend a penny.” Strike and Robin exchanged astonished expressions.

“I told you she’s not human,” Strike murmured. “You what?”

“I uh...” Alexandra bit her lip nervously. “I spent the night creating a website, saw we have none and the best agencies in London all have one. I happen to have learnt web design on my own while I was in middle school and look, I think is nice isn’t it?”

Strike and Robin crowded around the computer behind Alexandra’s chair to look at the screen. The webpage was in blue-golden-white colours and looked modern and stylish. Alexandra had designed a nice logo on top of the page that said ‘S&E Investigations’ over what seemed like the silhouettes of Strike and Robin with long detective coats. Alexandra showed them the sections, that followed the 6W investigation rules, creating six sections; What, Where, Who, Why, When and How. 

‘What’ specified the kind of jobs they did, including a quick summary on their most important cases; Lula Landry, Owen Quine and Donald Laing. ‘Where’ contained their position in the map and routes there from every single one of London’s boroughs. ‘How’ contained their email address, the phone number of the office, the links to their new social networks (Facebook & Twitter really), along with the process; meeting with an investigator, developing of the investigation, results. And also the negotiable prizes. ‘When’ specified they only scheduled meetings with clients with previous notice by phone or email, and that if you came without being scheduled, it was possible that the detectives were working outside the office, but it said the hours in which you could do it, and the days, giving them weekends free from seeing clients, another thing was if they chose to work on weekends sometimes or not. ‘Why’ was all eloquent going on about how they cared about catching murderers, helping you find the truth and other poetry Strike wouldn’t have been capable to write. And ‘Who’ made Robin squeal when it turned out to be a devoted section for each of them, accompanied by a small picture of both of them at some crime scene. Strike recognised to himself that it wasn’t good for the business for criminals to know how they looked like, but that it didn’t matter it was in the website, since their faces were on Google anyway, with the people they had imprisoned:

_DETECTIVE CORMORAN B. STRIKE_

_After dropping out of Oxford to join the Royal Military Police, Cormoran Strike became a Sergeant through six years in the Special Investigations Branch. Following a IED explosion, Mr Strike left the Army and in 2008, he opened his own detective agency in Denmark Street, London._

_Ever since he’s achieved a great reputation helping the Metropolitan Police in the arrest of dangerous criminals, becoming responsible for the imprisonment of killers such as John Bristow, the murderer of both his brother Charlie in 1983 and his sister, model Lula Landry, in 2010; Elizabeth Tassel, who killed writer Owen Quine in 2010; and Donald Laing, known as ‘The Shacklewell Ripper’, famous for murdering and quartering several women, including sixteen-year-old Kelsey Platt in 2011._

“The Met is not going to like this,” Strike grinned to himself. Robin chuckled, busy reading her own, shorter, description, promising herself to make it grow.

_JUNIOR DETECTIVE ROBIN V. ELLACOTT_

_Following a year as Mr Strike’s assistant, during which she collaborated actively in the imprisonment of Bristow, Tassel and Laing, becoming a key part of such investigations, Robin Ellacott has now become a junior detective, and continues to work alongside Mr Strike to resolve any case they get their hands on._

_Ms Ellacott started studying Psychology in St. Andrews’ University, but was forced to drop out for medical reasons. After that, she accumulated six years of experience working a diversity of temporary jobs, completing a course on personal defence, and since 2010, living and working in London for this detective agency._

“I like this,” Robin chuckled. “You’ve omitted gossip topics such as ‘amputee’ and made us both look way better than we are.”

“Speak for yourself, I’m hundred percent this good,” Strike joked. “How have you been capable of doing all of this in one night?” Alexandra looked confused.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” she said simply. Then she showed them their new Facebook, focused on connecting with possible clients and answering questions such as ‘Can my ex be jailed if you can prove he’s been spying on me?’ with a wicked ‘give us a try ;)’ and their new Twitter, focusing on sharing Met warnings and, Alexandra explained, giving their own version when the press tried to fool them. “...And don’t worry, ‘cause I can manage these things on my own, is not extra work for you.”

“I’m astonished,” Strike confessed going to fill his mug again.

“You are really wicked, Ali. Congrats,” Robin wicked. She felt a little silly she hadn’t taken such initiatives. “How did you think of this?”

“Well,” Alexandra blushed a little. “I realised Cormoran isn’t much of the technology guy, but a lot of people only find detectives online, not through an ad on the newspapers. They Google, and a bunch come out. The websites I saw make the detectives look much more professional and hardcore, and I also figured, it was good to promote what you guys have already done, let London know who’s the boss. I thought it would also make us look more modern, and that it was odd such an important detective agency didn’t have a website. I also made this video, look!”

They crowded around her again and she showed a video she had put on the website. It was so cool it looked like a movie trailer, and it was actually just forty seconds in the style of ‘You suspect your partner is unfaithful? Is your child being too secretive? You think your employees steal from you? Trying to find your family? Someone went missing? Call us!’ with dynamic typographies and photos of some crimes they had resolved, intercalated with London photos.

“My mind’s been blown,” said Strike in the end, without even thinking. Alexandra chuckled.

“So you’re not mad?” Alexandra asked.

“Well next time don’t go behind my back but...” Strike nodded, impressed. “Keep this up and you’ll have a job for life.”

As Robin and Strike sat at their desks sorting themselves out, Robin snorted a laugh and looked at Strike.

“Don’t you think she could be your kid?” Strike raised his eyebrows.

“Why? She’s everything I’m not, including young.” He joked. Robin rolled eyes, but smiled.

“She’s smart, she went to Oxford, she speaks a bunch of languages, she’s sneaky, she’s professional, she has this old phone, you should’ve seen it, that basically only serves for texting and calling, and she acts as if she’s normal. Besides, her hair is about as much of a mess as yours.”

“Yes, but then she behaves with impressive efficiency and talent, has hidden abilities, breaks noses, and is a sweetie with those who need it, and then I’d say she’s your secret daughter,” Strike joked. Robin snorted a laugh.

“Perhaps she’s our love-child we didn’t know we had.”

Strike roared in laughter.

 


	13. Strike and Nick's friend

It was around two-thirty and Strike was on his way to go do surveillance for one of the day’s new cases, when Alexandra called him telling him with a lot of firmness and no place for arguing that he had to come to the office ‘immediately’. When Strike appeared at the office he was panting and his leg was screaming.

“What’s so bloody imp...?” Strike’s eyes moved hearing a throwing-up sound and, not seeing Alexandra, he rushed to the inner office. In a dark corner he had a small sofa he rarely used –he had gotten accustomed on sitting on the one in the other room so he could see Robin work while sipping tea- and that was now occupied by Robin, throwing up on a bucket between her thighs. Alexandra sat beside her, holding the bucket with one hand and keeping Robin’s hair back with the other. Strike stood, pale, and Alexandra gave him a worried look.

“She came here like ten minutes ago, she said Roland Alles-Stewart cornered her at the company’s storeroom and tried to rape her, and she kicked him in the groin and ran. She didn’t realise where she was going until she found herself here and had a full-blown panic attack when she was telling me,” Alexandra explained. 

Strike realised Robin was sobbing and felt the anger building up. He rushed to sit on the other side of Robin and put a hand on her shoulder-blade, realising she was shaking.

“It’s okay Robin, you’re never going there again,” Strike scowled. Robin spat in the bucket and took a deep breath.

“I’m not like t-this just b-because of him,” Robin panted. “I think I f-fell, hit my...” Strike frowned and moved her hair to try and take a better look. Robin hissed and Strike realised she had a good bruise forming a lump.

“You must’ve fallen as you ran out and hit your head,” Strike murmured. “We need to take you to the hospital Robin, no arguing this time.”

**. . .**

Three hours later, Strike sat on the verge of Robin’s bed holding her hand while the woman slept. Alexandra stood by the bed, her back against the walls and her hands in her pockets, looking at Robin with concerned eyes. Strike delicately put Robin’s hand on his other hand and moved his now-free hand to caress her face softly as she slept on her side. She was a little pale, but other than that, she seemed completely fine, just with a bit of a lump in the back of her head, which was why she was on her side.

“We’re going to have to manage without her for a few weeks,” said Strike in a low voice. He didn’t want to wake Robin up. Alexandra nodded.

“Are you dating her?” she asked suddenly. Strike frowned and looked at her.

“Of course not. She’s going through a difficult divorce, and she just married not even a month ago.”

“She told me that,” Alexandra nodded again. “But I could’ve sworn you were her boyfriend by the way you behaved around her when the ambulance came. In fact, if I recall correctly, you told the paramedic you were her boyfriend so he’d let you inside the ambulance with her.” Strike stared at her attentively for a moment, and then the door opened and Robin’s parents came in with Nick and Ilsa.

“What happened?” Linda asked immediately, rushing to her daughter as Strike moved and tried to blend with the walls, as big as he was, to give space for Robin’s parents.

“We’re not sure,” said Strike. “She was supposed to be doing surveillance at a company and she had some sort of quarrel with someone, ran away and fell, then somehow made it to the office and Alexandra called the cavalry. But she couldn’t quite remember it properly, the doctor said two concussions in one week are a serious matter and want to keep her here for observation until tomorrow. Apparently what was a mild concussion now is a moderate one, so headache, vomiting, confusion, dizziness, memory loss... she’s got it all. They gave her painkillers and she’s been sleeping for an hour or so.”

“My poor thing,” Linda leaned to place a kiss on Robin’s temple. “But how did she make it to the office in this state?”

“We’ve got no idea and she doesn’t remember, but I suppose she grabbed a cab,” Strike himself couldn’t come out of his astonishment and had thought about it for long. “She made it all the way from Vauxhall.”

“She shouldn’t go to work now,” said Nick looking at Strike strictly. “For a couple weeks at the very least, you know, right? If she gets disoriented and falls a third time, it could be the last, I’m serious.”

“I know, I’m not the one who forces her into work, she just loves it, and is been out of it for long enough, try convince her to stay away two weeks more,” Strike sighed.

“Well no she doesn’t have a choice, we’re not letting her out of bed,” Ilsa assured firmly. Nick nodded in approval and Michael smiled small.

“Good thing she’s got a good team at home to make sure she’s good.” Michael opined.

Just another hour later and after bringing the Ellacotts dinner, they decided to leave Robin alone with her family and the four left the hospital. It was almost seven, so the Herberts, after being introduced to Alexandra properly, invited them for dinner at their place. Strike offered Alexadra the possibility of accompanying her home afterwards, and she accepted. While waiting for dinner, Strike helping Nick in the kitchen, Ilsa offered Alexandra a soda and the young girl stood around in the sitting room looking with curiosity around the small room. Her dark eyes travelled to the small window, through which she could see Octavia Street, and to the numerous photographs on the furniture, or the decorations.

She chuckled standing in front of the bookshelf and seeing portraits of Nick and Ilsa at their University graduations posing with their parents and their diplomas, both super young and elegant, Nick already a bit hairless by the time he finally finished the long medical studies.

“Admiring the memory lane?” Ilsa commented sympathetically entering the room. Alexandra turned around to look at her.

“It’s cute, having so many pictures. My grandparents did too.” Ilsa nodded.

“You must be missing them, uh?” Alexandra shrugged.

“Yeah but I try to remember they’re in a better place. It sucks the way it happened but...” Alexandra looked back at the pictures. “I guess better than that after years of becoming sicker and sicker... Are your grandparents still alive?” Ilsa smiled sadly and shook her head.

“They died years ago,” replied Ilsa. “I haven’t really lost a lot of people. My life was much easier at your age.” Alexandra nodded.

“It’s fine though. What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.”

“Did you know Corm never had much of a relationship with his father either?” Ilsa commented casually. “You two have more in common than one would think.” Alexandra snorted.

“Yeah well... I don’t really know what happened to my dad. My grandparents said they never knew who it was, mum refused to tell them. They didn’t think my father would know she was pregnant, she was only a couple months pregnant when they moved away and went to Southampton.”

“Oh really?” Ilsa looked curious. “Where were they from, if I can ask?”

“London, actually,” replied Alexandra. “Gramps said they thought I’d be happier somewhere calmer, by the coast... it was nice there indeed. But I heard so much about here, it wasn’t so had to decide to come eventually. It felt like the most natural thing to do.” Ilsa nodded, surprised.

“So you’re practically a Londoner, like my husband.”

“Aren’t you?” asked Alexandra.

“No,” Ilsa chuckled. “I’m from St. Mawes, Cornwall. Cormoran and I have been friends since birth, practically, our families are old friends from school. Then we became closer in primary, but we played together as toddlers all the time in the beach.” Alexandra smiled.

“Sounds nice! So you two dated?” Ilsa blushed and giggled.

“Not at all, it would’ve felt incestuous,” said Ilsa. “By the time Cormoran started having girlfriends, he already lived here, and the first person I ever dated was Nick years later. We met through Corm, you see? Then we broke-up, saw other people... but what’s meant to be, is meant to be.” Alexandra looked impressed.

“Oh, how romantic.” Then a picture caught her attention. “Who’s this woman with Cormoran and Nick? The one holding Cormoran’s hand?” Ilsa nodded.

“It’s funny, you’re the second person who asks about her this week. She’s Olivia Gavernier, an old friend of them, Corm’s first girlfriend. This was the Christmas’ class picture of 1991 and then, Olivia left London just a couple months later and they never saw her again. Why do you ask?” Alexandra frowned lightly, looking at the picture full of curiosity.

“She reminds me of my mother,” recognised Alexandra. “They look alike, it called my attention.” Ilsa looked surprised.

“Your mother was blonde with blue eyes?” Ilsa couldn’t help the tone of surprise. Alexandra giggled lightly.

“I know, that was my grandparents’ surprise too. They said I’m all like my father then, but that my mother is in my personality and in my ways, sometimes. And I’m left-handed, like mum.”

The four sat for lunch, Cormoran and Alexandra together in front of the married couple. They had been chit-chatting and eating their rice with peas, chicken, sauce and meatballs. Nick had pretty much emptied all leftovers and he had also made guacamole and nachos. They had been eating for a long time, when Cormoran felt excessively observed and looked up to see Nick and Ilsa observing Alexandra and him with a weird expression, in silence, like shocked. Strike frowned and elbowed Alexandra, who looked up too.

“What?” asked Alexandra. “Did I do something wrong? Oh, shit, we didn’t bless our food, is that it?” she looked nervous. Nick and Ilsa woke up from their self-absorption.

“I’m sorry,” apologised Ilsa. “No, is all good. Is just, Nick and I were just surprised you’ve got Cormoran’s same weird habits, it called our attention, that’s all.” Cormoran and Alexandra exchanged scowling looks.

“What are you talking about?” asked Cormoran.

“Well, it’s silly,” Nick chuckled. “Is just, you lick the guacamole off your nacho before you eat it, and we’ve never seen anyone else who does that, but now Alexandra was doing it too.”

“And then is the way you eat each different food off the dish without mixing it,” added Ilsa with a snigger. “Every time there’s a combined dish, Corm insists on not mixing-up ingredients, he’s super tidy, and you’re doing the exact same thing like, what are the odds?”

“Really?” Strike looked at Alexandra. He hadn’t noticed. She blushed.

“Well, if I mix the peas with the rice, how am I supposed to appreciate the full taste of either of them?” Alexandra justified. Strike laughed.

“Right? That’s what I’ve said to everyone all my life! Finally someone who gets it.”

Nick and Ilsa exchanged circumstantial expressions and said nothing. After dinner, Strike walked Alexandra to Whitechapel, half taking the tube, and as they were about to arrive at her flat, Alexandra looked at Strike nervously.

“So... Ilsa’s pretty pregnant.”

“Indeed,” Strike nodded, smoking a fag as they walked through streets all too familiar for him.

“What about you?” Strike laughed.

“This is just fat, thank you,” he joked. Alexandra chuckled.

“I mean... don’t you want children?”

“Me?” Strike shook his head, exhaling smoke. “Never. All they do is take full control of your life and then is never yours again. Besides, they’re dirty messes, you know? and they scream, and then your whole life revolves around them. I like taking control of my own life.” Alexandra nodded, and Strike didn’t realise she seemed a bit sad.

“We’re here,” Alexandra stood at the door of her building. Strike nodded. “Well, thanks for walking me home, Cormoran.”

“Nothing,” Strike shrugged. “We just had a serial killer that took girls like you and made purée with them, allow me to be a bit over-protective. Robin hates it but... you’re still eighteen.” Alexandra nodded.

“I appreciate it, even more at these hours...” she said. “Goodnight then, see you tomorrow.”

“Sleep well.” Strike stood around until Alexandra disappeared in the lift, that he could see from the glass door, and then he turned around on his heels and marched away, wondering if Robin was feeling better.

 


	14. What if he's my father

When the weekend came, Alexandra paid Robin a visit at the Herberts’ while Strike was out doing surveillance. Robin’s parents had gone back to Masham and Robin had only been in the hospital for 36h, and was now feeling much better, but Alexandra still found her on the sofa over a bunch of cushions while Ilsa drank an herbal tea sitting on an armchair, reading, and Nick resolved Sudokus snuggled up on an armchair like a cat. Alexandra accepted Ilsa’s offer for another herbal infusion and sat next to her.

“How’s the office?” Robin asked, always craving something work-related.

“All’s very calm,” said Alexandra. “Cormoran has been a bit crazy with so many cases for himself, but I’m helping with the suggestions you made and we’re managing. How are you feeling?” Robin puffed.

“Like my brain isn’t mine.” Ilsa chuckled at her lightly, cupping her belly with one arm.

“Patience,” Alexandra smiled sympathetically. “Actually Nick, I had a question for you, since you’re a doctor.” Nick looked up from his Sudoku and nodded.

“Sure, what is it?”

“Is it possible to take a paternity test without the man knowing?” Alexandra asked, nervous. Nick’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline. “It’s just... There’s a friend of my mum, here in London, and I found some letters of her that made me think... perhaps he’s my father. But I don’t want to startle him if he isn’t, so I thought I could just check it out myself and not bother him unless I’m certain. I got a hair from him.” Nick nodded slowly.

“Actually, Al, is a crime to do a DNA test without both parties giving consent with documentation and everything. Your mum’s friend must know what’s going on,” explained Nick.

“Shit...” Alexandra sighed. “He’s never going to contribute. If I tell him, he’ll refuse to even think of the possibility.”

“Why don’t you ask Cormoran for help?” asked Robin. “You work at a detectives’ agency, I’m sure he can help out and find out without the dude knowing and without breaking the law.”

“I can’t ask him,” Alexandra bit her lip. “He’s too famous, what if someone finds out?”

“He’s very discreet.”

“Still, what if?” Alexandra shrugged. “But you could do it, Robin, right? If I tell you who it is, you’d do it?” Robin smiled slightly.

“I’d love to, but you’re going to have to wait until I feel better.”

“Oh yeah, no problem. Thank you!” Alexandra chuckled. Ilsa looked a bit nervous at Alexandra.

“Al... the person you suspect is your father... we’re talking about Cormoran himself, aren’t we?” Alexandra looked at her with wide eyes. When she tried to change expression, it was already too late. Robin sat up.

“For real?” Robin asked.

“You can’t tell him, he doesn’t want children, he’ll flip and then he’ll fire me and then I’ll be living on the street,” Alexandra rambled.

“Ali, sweetie, I would never allow that to happen, it would be illegal also,” Robin looked at her with concern. “That’s why you came to London, isn’t it? You knew.”

“I didn’t know for sure,” Alexandra felt incredibly nervous. “I still don’t know for sure. It could be nothing. I uh... When I inherited from my grandparents and decided to leave Southampton, I started packing, opening boxes that I’ve never looked at. One of them was full of my mum’s things, and I found her diary. I don’t think my grandparents ever read it, because they were very strict with privacy, they never went through my stuff or anything, but I binge-read it because well, I’ve never met her, I was curious...” she rambled. “Anyway, there are several pages in which she spoke of a green-eyed boy she really liked, talked about kissing him, having sex with him... and it was from early in 1992, when she still lived in London. She never said his name, she called him Mr. C. The last entry is from late in February, before they left London, and she spoke with so much sadness about the pain of having to leave Mr. C without telling him, saying that she was pregnant and Mr. C would’ve been a great dad. She daydreamed a lot for a seventeen-year-old, but anyway... I went through all the class photos of 1991 and 1992, and I saw Cormoran. Of course there were many guys with ‘C’, but around the time before my mum left, in all the pictures my mum had with friends, Cormoran was always next to her. I knew it was him because she always wrote footnotes behind the photographs. And I thought, what are the odds that this Cormoran is the same Cormoran of the newspapers talking about The Shacklewell Ripper, right? So I decided to come and find out and I saw how much we look alike or act alike, then he told me about that girlfriend, who left, around the exact same time as my mum and everything and,” Alexandra stood up and pointed to the picture of Olivia, Strike, Nick and the rest of their class. “Then I saw this photograph, the other day. My mum had this exact photograph too, she went to this comprehensive, in Hackney, right?” Nick nodded, perplexed. “This girl, Olivia. This is my mum, I’m sure of it. So Mr. C... it has to be Cormoran, right?”

Robin opened and closed her mouth several times like a fish and then she took a deep breath.

“Ali... this is a very, very serious thing, you realise?” said Robin. “I admit you two are strangely alike, and Ilsa told me about your weird eating habits, and the stories match but...”

“But what?” Alexandra sat down again, adrenaline coming down. “What are the odds, Robin? Look at my curls. My eyes. Green isn’t exactly common, isn’t? And we’re both tall, I’ve always been the tallest of every class. We’re both smart, we both went to Oxford, we both do odd things with food, we both like loads of onion in our sandwiches, and creosote dark tea... My mother’s name was Olivia Wright, but I think, according to what I saw in the school pictures that include the names of the students, that before she was Olivia Gavernier. Cormoran was her boyfriend around the time I was conceived, I was born on August 27th 1992 at eight months, which means I was conceived around New Year’s. Perhaps they went partying, got drunk, forgot about condoms, I don’t know. And then in February my mother found out, in her diary she talks about constant throwing up, feeling uneasy... and then my grandparents found out and perhaps they were embarrassed. Perhaps they were afraid of my mum being bullied in school. And she wouldn’t tell anyone his name, she said in her diary that no one ever had to know, that it would only ruin his life. So my grandparents took her away, changed surnames, went to Southampton. And she’s dead and I’ve got no one else but my dad, whoever he is, so excuse me, but I really would like to know who it is.”

“Al...” Ilsa looked at her with a slight frown. “You may be happier not knowing. Listen, I know you think Cormoran is this great guy, but he never wanted children, that’s the one thing he’s said since he was like six, he never wanted them. He doesn’t know how to be a father. He hardly knows you, he’s had a tough life and he can hardly have an organised life on his own. You could break him with this.”

“I am not going to protect a thirty-six-year-old man!” Alexandra hissed. “Ilsa, I don’t need him to give me money or anything, I’m not expecting for him to do anything, I just need the truth. And I’m sorry if it fucks up his life, but look at me, okay? I’m eighteen and I have no idea of a whole side of my family. Grandparents, uncles, cousins... Nothing. I don’t know if my father abandoned me or what. And if Cormoran did a seventeen-year-old stupidity, the consequences were very high and he should confront them, he should know the truth, he should know his kid was stolen from him, isn’t the truth what he always wants to know? Isn’t this too big to hide from him? Besides,” added Alexandra. “His father didn’t want him, right? Well perhaps he doesn’t have to be like his father. And he likes me, how terrible would it be to know he’s my father?”

“Al...” Robin pointed behind Alexandra’s sofa. There stood Cormoran, petrified, keys in his hand. He looked pale and serious.

 


	15. What do we do

Strike finished his second beer. He hadn’t said a word yet, he just stood there looking between Alexandra and the picture of Olivia on the furniture. The tension in the air was intoxicating. He passed a big hand through his mane of curls and sighed for what felt like the umpteenth time, and then he glared at Alexandra.

“Are you sure this Olivia is your Olivia?” he growled. Alexandra nodded, for the first time scared of him. “When did she leave?”

“The end of February, 1992. You had been together for three months.”

“She kissed me at my birthday party,” said Strike. “We began dating a few weeks later,” he looked nervous, like a dog around pyrotechnics. “We lost our virginity together at a party some friends threw on New Year’s Eve. I told her it was too soon, but she insisted. I didn’t abuse her or anything.”

“I know, she was bloody excited in her diary,” Alexandra assured nervously.

“Her parents were Jimmy and Gladys, right?” Strike asked, with his bloody good memory. Alexandra nodded again. “Olivia never wanted to tell them because they thought I wasn’t good enough, they didn’t like me one bit, you know? I could never visit her house if they were there. They questioned me because my mum smoke weed and dated a drug addict and we lived in a squat in Whitechapel, and I looked too rough. They didn’t like us one bit, told Olivia to stay away from us, but she wouldn’t. Damn stubborn, your mother.”

“Sounds like her,” Alexandra nodded. Strike bit his lip, looking at the picture.

“I never abandoned you. I wouldn’t have. If I had known she was pregnant... I would’ve stuck around, you know? I would’ve given Olivia money for you. You would’ve known me. But she never said anything. She seemed perfectly fine before she left.”

“I believe you,” Alexandra agreed.

“Where’s she buried then?” asked Strike roughly.

“Southampton, Hollybrook cemetery.”

“Fine,” Strike nodded, then went to the kitchen. To their surprise, he reappeared five minutes later holding a plastic disposable glass with blood in it and licking his thumb. He gave the glass to Alexandra.

“Jesus Christ, are you mad?” Alexandra’s eyes widened.

“Do the freaking test, I’ll send you a signed authorisation with a photocopy of my driver’s license. I want the test on my desk by the end of next week.” He said roughly, and walked outside the house.

“Corm!” Alexandra went to get up, but Ilsa stopped her with a hand.

“Leave him alone, Al,” she said softly. “He needs to be alone right now.”

But what they hoped would be a weekend of disappearance, turned into a week, and then a bit more than a week. Strike only answered texts to say he was alive and well, every now and then, and only to Nick or Ilsa. On one occasion, he had the courtesy of texting Robin about work, just so she’d know despite his absence she should not go back to work when she was still convalescent, but that was it. Alexandra was the only one in the office most days, Robin only passing every now and then to check on how were things going. Calls were attended, reunions postponed, works, said Strike, done from wherever he was. So they knew he was around, just avoiding the office at all costs, probably because of Alexandra, while the paternity tests results lied on an unopened envelope on Strike’s desk as he had requested.

“I should leave,” said Alexandra during dinner at the Herberts one evening, about ten days after Strike had left. She was crestfallen, angry and tired, and with the anger and frustration Robin herself was growing towards Strike, whom she had never seen behave so childishly, she didn’t know how to console her either. Nick and Ilsa just tried to mediate, but they were also astonished by Strike’s behaviour. “If he’s going to be so immature to keep avoiding me like this, I’ll go back to Southampton, or to school. I can find another job and I’ve got good money from my will. It should be enough to live a few months worriless until I find another job. The longer I stay the longer he’ll be gone and at this rhythm, the agency will be in debt and completely sank in less than another week.”

“This is unbelievable,” Robin puffed, shaking her head. She was still feeling shitty and appreciated more than ever the Herberts’ generosity. Her parents were now back in Masham, knowing Robin was busy enough with the drama in London and couldn’t quite pay attention to them. “I’m going to strangle him one day. This is none your fault, you wouldn’t even be alive if he knew how to keep it in his pants, you shouldn’t have to pay the prize.” Despite none of them had seen the paternity test results, since Alexandra insisted on not seeing before Strike, they were pretty convinced she was truly his daughter. The more they thought about it, the more alike they saw they were.

“I know, but if he’s going to act like a toddler then someone’s got to be a bit more mature, right? And I couldn’t live with being part of the reason the agency dies after all the work you’ve put to it.”

“Perhaps someone should mediate,” Ilsa looked at Nick and Lucy, who had also ended up knowing everything, in hopes that Strike would maybe contact her. Everyone knew she was like a soldier and could set her brother straight. Desperate occasions required desperate measures.

“Well you are the lawyer dear, you surely are more diplomatic than any of us,” said Nick with a sigh. He had barely touched his dish.

“I’m not talking about diplomacy, I could break his big jerk’s nose for the umpteenth time,” hissed Ilsa. “We all knew it wouldn’t be easy, it would’ve been time for diplomacy and okay, let’s wait and give him time and space, if it had only been two, three days. A week is already to be a little pissed, but ten days? Eleven, tomorrow? He’s going to be thirty-seven, for God’s sakes, he’s got enough mane in his armpits to show some maturity and a couple balls!”

“Agreed,” Lucy sighed. She had only known her niece for a couple days and already liked her. “Does anyone have any idea where he is?”

“Somewhere in London,” said Robin. “He’s attending cases, but there are about twenty-two at the moment, which is a once-in-a-lifetime thing thanks to Ali, so good luck finding his exact location.”

“Perhaps I should call my uncle. If anyone can speak to a stubborn soldier, is a stubborn soldier,” said Lucy. “I honestly don’t get it. Fine, he’s hurt ‘cause Ali’s family stole her from him and never said a word, but first, I think it’s normal Olivia wouldn’t say who was the father, because she wouldn’t want him to get into trouble. I can’t imagine what would’ve been for my family in those days to find out he had knocked someone up. That without mentioning what Mr Wright would’ve probably done to Stick. Cormoran should understand those facts, Olivia did what honestly was best in the moment for us, because she cared about him that much. No offence Ali darling, but you would’ve screwed up his life big time. Well, more like he would’ve done it to himself, not really your fault, but...”

“I understand, I know,” Alexandra nodded. “My mother had to abandon her studies and work two jobs for three months until she could no longer work, and my grandparents had to take second jobs to prepare for my arrival. A child in the wrong time can fuck people’s lives up, even if it’s not really the kid’s fault.”

“Yeah, that’s what I meant,” Lucy sighed, looking sadly at Alexandra. “And I don’t know your family, but we didn’t have a penny. I left my family in the 91 to live with my Uncle and Aunt in our hometown in Cornwall because I couldn’t for the life of God stand the drug addict who my mum was dating and who she married the year you were born, someone who may even be responsible of her death and who’s a rat. I know they lived in a squat with little resources because my mum sucked at managing economy, wouldn’t let my brother get a decent part-time job because she said children should not work, and gave our money to her boyfriend to waste it in drugs. And then, four months after your birth came our step-brother, of whom we hardly know anything anymore. Thanks to your family running away with you, we know at least Whittaker, mum’s then husband, doesn’t know about your existence and better that way because he’s threatened to kill my brother more than once and if he knew you’re around, you’d be in serious danger.”

“Bugger,” Robin blurted out all of the sudden. “That’s right, you’re a genius Lucy!” She looked at her with wide eyes.

“Well thank you but why?” Lucy smiled small at her.

“We were so focused on being frustrated we didn’t think of the biggest issue of Cormoran’s paternity over Alexandra being proven. If he’s got a child, who on top of it all is a young, innocent girl, he’s got an Achilles’ ankle for Whittaker to go for, and not just Whittaker, how many enemies does Cormoran have? Because with only the Laing case, we already found a few very dangerous ex-soldiers, between others. Think about it. Just now, with the Laing case, he was trying to kill me just because he knew it’ll hurt Cormoran, and I was just the assistant, how much pain would it be to kill his only daughter? That’s why Cormoran vanished, not just because it’s hard, but because he realised the danger it is to have Alexandra around. He’s gone to deal with anyone who might try to kill her before they do.” It was as if a light bulb had turned on in Robin’s brain and suddenly all the pieces of the puzzle fit. She saw in the faces of the others how realisation came to them too.

“That’s it. Oggy would only turn his back on everyone like this if he really had something majorly important to do, and what’s more important than keeping his only child safe?” Nick lost his colour. “Shit, if he’s gone alone he’s a dead man!”

“But wait,” Alexandra raised placating hands. “If Cormoran had gone to kill people or arrest them, we’d have news already. It’s been ten days.”

“No, Cormoran’s a detective, a wolf,” Robin shook her head. “He observes for months if necessary until he knows it’s the right time to attack while succeeding and not making things wrong. He made me sit outside Donald Laing’s flat for weeks, observing is all we do most of the time, going after someone and memorising their routine for days and weeks and months if necessary, looking for the weak spot. If Cormoran’s in London, as he know he is, I bet he’s gone after Whittaker, it’s the one who got away, he’s killed twice that he thinks of. And he’s usually in Whitechapel, where you live, so he’s the most immediate source danger. That’s where he’s been, observing Whittaker for days until he could find a way... because he already tried once, when Leda was killed, and he knows he can’t fail twice, so he has to be really thorough.” Alexandra frowned.

“I haven’t seen him in Whitechapel.”

“He knows Whitechapel like the palm of his hand,” said Lucy. “If he doesn’t want to be seen, he won’t.”

“There’s only one person that can find him,” said Robin, feeling bright despite the fogginess in her brain. Lucy and she said it at once. “Shanker.”

**. . .**

Ten minutes later Robin was dressed and ready to move. Alexandra was proving to be as stubborn as her father and Robin didn’t have it in her for arguments with another Strike. Shanker had received a brief summary of events over the phone but it was more than enough and he knew if he didn’t find Strike on time, he might be dead by the time he did. He didn’t ask for a penny. This time it was too serious.

“But I should go, you’re concussed, what use are you there?” Alexandra pressured.

“Ali, listen to me,” Robin took Alexandra by the shoulders. “I’ve only known Whittaker on a couple occasions and I know what he’s capable of. He’s got a gang full of people with no limits, he killed his own wife and he was found with the body of his girlfriend dead for days in his flat not that long afterwards. He might’ve never gone down for murder, but I know Cormoran and if he says Whittaker did it, he’s right. But Whittaker is no one outside Whitechapel, he hardly leaves it, which means you are safe here, and as long as you’re safe, your father and I can work and do our thing that we’ve always done calmly and with the same success as always. I know you want to help and do the good thing, but understand that going out and getting in this would be not only dangerous and reckless, but would jeopardise things and a killer could get away with it, and I can’t consent that. Cormoran’s waited for sixteen years; if he’s closer than ever now, we won’t risk it. And believe me, if he wasn’t close, he wouldn’t have been gone for so long. This time, he’s dead set, he’s not letting Whittaker get away for much longer.”

“So what am I going to do?” asked Alexandra with urgency.

“Tonight, you stay here,” said Robin. “Tomorrow, perhaps Lucy can drive you to the airport and you can head to Cornwall. Whittaker’s people will never find you there.”

“But what about Lucy and her boys? Why didn’t Whittaker go for them?” asked Alexandra again.

“Well firstly they’re in Bromley, too far for a rat. And secondly, they’re too close to Leda, if anything happened to them, Whittaker would be the first person police would go after. If he knew who you truly are, and you appeared dead one day, only we would know he did it, and that already happened with Leda and he got away. He’s a sociopath; he’ll always think he’s safe and a genius. All Cormoran wants to do, hopefully, is putting him between bars for good, or perhaps kill him, anything to keep him away from you while having justice been made for those women, so... if all goes well, you’ll never be in danger. But we should put you somewhere safe in case things get out of hand.”

“Alright so police, Wardle, that friend of yours, why not...?”

“Ali,” Robin smiled small at her. “You know if police gets involved it’ll be easier for Whittaker to know we’re after him. We’re counting on him never knowing what’s waiting for him until it’s too late.”

“So what are you going to do? You’re still concussed.”

“Shanker is sort of an old friend, he and I will find Cormoran tonight and make sure he doesn’t get himself killed, aside from confirming what he’s up to,” explained Robin, putting on her coat. “If we find him, we’ll bring him here and regroup, he and I will work on a successful plan together, if Whittaker is really who he’s after and we haven’t just imagined things. His failure is that he’s always trying to work things alone, and experience tells us success has only come for him when he wasn’t alone so, I’ll chime in and in the meantime you’ll be safe in Cornwall so we don’t have to worry about you. With some luck, in just a few days Whittaker will be out of the picture and you can come back.”

“Robin,” Alexandra said sternly. “Cormoran hasn’t called you because he knows you’re an Achilles’ ankle too. Think about it, you told me how overprotective he’s always been with you. He was this close to killing your husband out of rage. He won’t forgive himself if something happens to you because of his stuff, and you know it, and now that you’re weak? If I was Whittaker, you’re the first person I’d go to. Why can you take the risk and I can’t?” Robin looked at her very seriously for a moment and then nodded, as they stood in the Herbert’s hall.

“It has crossed my mind,” Robin recognised before sighing deep. “Alexandra, this is my job. It’s my life, and I’ve got a year and a half of experience, which isn’t much, but you’ve barely got days in it, and the most dangerous thing you’ve confronted is an angry father. You feel like a grown-up adult and you act like such, you’re that mature, but we must never forget you’re still a child, and what’s more... you’re Cormoran’s child.”

“I think he feels way more affection towards you than towards me really, and Whittaker knows that. It’d make more sense for him to go after you, while he doesn’t even know I exist, so I should be the one going. He won’t see me coming.” Robin sighed.

“It’s very likely that you’re right,” Robin nodded. “I will still risk it. Alexandra, I am your boss and your elder, if anything happens to you, who do you think will feel responsible for the rest of their days? Your father and I. We won’t jeopardize the well-being of an eighteen year old, or nineteen soon enough, for anything in the world, even less when said kid has barely any experience and much less when you’re his child, alright? It simply wouldn’t be right. Nothing’s really going to happen with Cormoran or myself, we know how to look after each other, okay? You don’t need to worry. Worst case scenario, Whittaker will escape, but he’ll always have us behind his asshole for the rest of his life. And Ali, one last thing before I leave,” Robin caressed her face. “He might’ve never wanted to be a father, but I know Cormoran. He’s all love and kindness, and all he ever hurts is because he loves too much, even when people don’t deserve it. He’s felt particularly fond of you since day one, and I know he cares about you, I know he would never abandon his children, like his father did with him. And I know that he would give his life for you. He may not understand it himself, or any of us for that matter... but he already loves you as his child. Even if he never raised you. If he could go back in time... I know he would’ve chosen you.”

Robin nodded and adjusted her coat better before walking towards the door. Alexandra frowned lightly thinking of her words and then looked up at her as Robin opened the door.

“He loves you, Robin!” Alexandra said. Robin stopped in her tracks. “I don’t think he knows, but what he feels for you... Is way more than fraternal, or friendly, appreciation. And I know you feel the same more than you know.” After a moment, Robin looked at her over her shoulder, something bright in her eyes that Alexandra had never seen.

“Then you know we won’t let anything happen to each other.”

And she left.

 


	16. About Leda

In the darkness of the night, London’s life barely relented slightly, but in the area known for Jack the Ripper it all seemed to move slower. Shanker guided Robin through alleys and streets he knew well, as they made their way in front of small buildings that lacked luxury. Although Robin had been around the area, she had never smelled so closely Strike’s childhood, and she got a sense of his humility, his kindness and his knowledge of the street while thinking of Alexandra’s words.

Her own feelings for Strike were still unclear to her. She knew the man meant a lot for her and he was for sure a very dear friend, but she still felt the piercing wounds Matthew had inflicted inside of her and, as she wondered if she’d ever be able to blindly trust someone else again, she realised that’s how she trusted Strike. Somehow, without being able to explain it herself, Strike had managed to earn from her the trust and the affection she would’ve thought herself unable to give after what had occurred with her husband. But from that to falling in love once again? She wasn’t sure she could do that yet. But she was also sure being Strike, it wouldn’t be hard to fall for him one day, letting the feelings that already rose for him, grow.

“Do you know where he is?” Robin whispered. She could feel her head pounding, but there was one strange feeling of uneasiness in her chest that was unnerving her way more than her slight dizziness. It was the same she had felt as she waited for Matthew to confess his infidelity, sitting on bed with him. It was the feeling that something was about to go terribly wrong.

“No,” admitted Shanker, walking beside her and, Robin realised, frequently glancing at her, as if to check she was still alright. He had heard from Strike what Matthew had done. “Tho there’s only one place where Whittaker’s guys go ‘ll the time.”

They walked inside a dark, thin alley, with no exit, and suddenly heard three bangs like shoots. Robin’s eyes widened and Shanker stopped dead in his tracks.

“Was that...?” But Shanker had already run to a thin door that he cracked open, and Robin ran after him. But suddenly they were surrounded by smoke.

“Get out! Drug lab exploded!” Shanker shouted between coughs, using his jacket to cover his face. 

Robin coughed and pressed her foulard against her nose and mouth, trying to keep the drug-scented smoke at bay, but refused to leave. Something told her they were close to wherever they were supposed to be. Her eyes damped with tears from the dark smoke that clouded her sight as they tried to descend the stairs. They could hear the fire, and see orange light coming from it at the end. It was like descending to hell.

They landed on a thin corridor full of smoke, the fire at the end of it, and Shanker looked around.

“There’s nothin’ here, let’s get out before the entire place explodes!” Shanker murmured with his mouth hidden inside his jacket. They could hear sirens, which meant someone had seen the smoke and alerted emergencies. But suddenly with the light of the flames Robin could see a figure between the smoke.

“There!” Robin rushed to it, even if she could hardly see and her eyes felt like they burned, but she would identify that enormous bulk anywhere. “Cormoran!”

**. . .**

Robin felt like she was dead inside. She didn’t know how she managed to breathe, and as she looked at her pale face in the mirror, she didn’t know how she was looking at a living person and not a ghost. She splashed fresh water in her face and hair, trying to get rid of the heat she still felt, hours later, as if she was impregnated with it, and then she walked into the corridor where the others awaited. Shanker had left long ago; he had a record and police should never know he was involved in this. But Strike’s family had come rushing, and the Herberts, and only Ted and Joan were left to arrive.

“Whatever happened there, is a mystery,” Wardle said. He looked as if he hadn’t slept the entire night, as the group formed a circle standing in the hospital waiting room, waiting for news. Robin didn’t mind the wait; it meant Strike still breathed. “It was a meth lab in there, between other drugs, according to information from the drug department, but the fire has banished it all, there’s just carbon in there, and the air isn’t breathable. It’ll take us weeks or months to start identifying anything there. The only thing we were able to collect from there for now was DNA remains from a Jeff Whittaker. His body is barely recognisable, but he was close enough to the door to not get the most of the explosion, so we could still find enough to do an appropriate recognition, and it’s definitely him.”

“He’s dead?” Lucy asked, impressed. She hadn’t slept all night either, the bags under her eyes evident. Her pale was impressively pale, since she –blonde and blue eyed- was already pale naturally and the worry had taken the worst of it.

“Yeah,” Wardle nodded. “More than dead. Autopsy will enlighten us some more, but I doubt we’ll ever be able to know the exact cause. It seems like the explosion killed him. And he was holding a gun, the heat made it stick to his skin, it was disgusting. From his position, I’d say he shot Strike seconds before the entire place blew up, which made me think Strike had something to do in the explosion, but since it was a meth lab, there could be a million causes for that to explode. And if there’s anyone else dead, they’re all criminals, so we’re not going to feel too sorry. My mates had been after Whittaker’s gang for ages, but never had enough to arrest them.”

“My brother was shot three times,” said Lucy with a stern look. “I trust he won’t be prosecuted for this?”

“He won’t,” Wardle sighed. “But it’d be nice to know what happened though. It’s crazy down there. They have to throw down the entire building because the structure has been compromised and it could fall down any second. Luckily it’s an abandoned building at least. What was Strike doing there, is it some case?” he asked looking at Robin, who shook her head.

“No,” said Robin. “We have no idea, honestly, I’d tell you if I knew. We had a discussion about work, fought some and I haven’t seen him in some days, no one has. And considering it’s a miracle he’s still alive, with how he was when I found him, I don’t think we’ll know anything in months, if we ever know.”

“I’ve got another question though,” Wardle looked suspiciously. “How did you know he’d be there? And how did you take him to the street up the stairs of the lab? He weights a ton, there’s no way you can with him.” Robin shrugged.

“I told you we fought, I was looking for him to make amends. I had a hunch he might be in Whitechapel, since he grew up there and his mother is buried in the cemetery, so I don’t know, I was just trying my luck and had no idea where I was going, but I knew I’d find him. I saw the smoke coming under the door, came in to see if there was someone injured, smelt the drug so I was going to leave when I thought I saw a body, and it was Cormoran. Regarding how did I lift him up the stairs, I guess it was adrenaline. They said people do incredible stuff when there’s a real emergency, and I knew the entire place could continue to blow up and kill us both any second, but he’s my partner and no one is left behind.”

“What did you fight about?” Wardle inquired. Robin narrowed her eyes and Alexandra looked attentively, knowing she was lying about the fight.

“What do you care?” sassed Robin. “Work. We had a simple disagreement, got more worked-up than we should’ve.” Wardle nodded, still looking suspicious. Robin snapped. “Look Wardle, I don’t have patience alright? If you want you can take a look at every single one of our cases, but I swear not Cormoran and not I are involved in crime other than to eradicate it.”

“Fine,” Wardle nodded. “It won’t be necessary. I must go but, I hope he feels better soon.”

Not long after he was gone, a nurse appeared.

“Alexandra?” the nurse asked looking urgent.

“I am,” said Alexandra. “Why?”

“Mr Strike is asking for you,” the nurse said.

“He’s awake?” Nick asked. “Is he alright?”

“Well, no,” the nurse sighed. “We’re not sure he’ll make it until tomorrow, like the doctor said... he’s still in the ICU and the bullets created serious wounds, he’s feverish, delirious... he hasn’t opened his eyes, but he keeps saying her name.”

“Take me to him then,” said Alexandra, full of worry. The prospect of losing the only parent she had ever given the chance to meet just when she had found him felt like being stabbed multiple times. “I am his daughter.” 

The nurse took Alexandra to a room full of beds in the ICU, and in one of those beds laid Strike, covered with a blanket to his neck, with some burns across his skin and surrounded by beeping machines, cables and tubes. An oxygen mask occupied most of his face, and his eyes were closed, but the eyelids seemed to tremble with the pupils’ movement.

“I’ll give you some privacy,” the nurse said, moving away behind the curtains surrounding the bed. 

Alexandra looked sadly at Strike, hearing a murmur behind his mask. She pulled from it just a little to hear and she, too, thought she heard her name repeated over and over.

“It’s okay, dad...” Alexandra cupped his face where it seemed less burnt and kissed his temple. She felt she appreciated the man so much, he had given her a job, taken her in with open arms, and now despite barely knowing what they were, was near dead because he tried to protect her. “I’m here.”

**. . .**

At lunch, encouraged by the news that Strike seemed to finally be stable, the group decided to stick together for comfort and have lunch at Lucy and Greg’s. In the end, they were all missing their responsibilities just to keep an eye in case, to quote the doctor that had attended Strike upon arrival at the hospital, Strike ‘might die in any second’.

Alexandra had informed them that he had looked extremely pale and sick when she had seen him, but that he had seemed better when she had left, so they took some solace in that. They weren’t allowed to spend more time with them in the ICU anyway, for now. Once at Lucy and Greg’s, Alexandra looked curiously at the pictures of the family she had never seen or heard of; her cousins (who were in bed), her grandmother, and her grandaunt and granduncle, who were to arrive at night.

“So grandpa doesn’t care about us?” Alexandra asked Lucy as she tried to help in the kitchen. Lucy smiled softly at her niece. She had always wanted a niece or a nephew.

“Grandpa?” Lucy snorted a laugh. “My father is different from my brother’s, but yes, the Rokebys couldn’t care less about what happens to Cormoran or you, and let alone me, I’m afraid. Not cut-out to be human, Jonny Rokeby.” Alexandra nodded.

“So there was full meaning in the story that he abandoned grandma then.”

“Yes, unfortunately. But mum was better off without that prick. She needn’t men at all.” Alexandra chuckled.

“Sounds like a cool person.”

“Sometimes she was,” Lucy shrugged, preparing a sauce for the chicken. “She gave the best hugs and always had terrific bed-time stories to tell. But she was a child in the body of a grown woman, and got the worst men to take advantage of that. Luckily, that taught her how to raise the best kind of boys, as you’ll see in your dad with some luck.”

“I already did,” Alexandra said simply.

“So...” Greg, who passed around to grab things to set the table, looked at his new niece. “It’s set in stone, then? You’re Corm’s daughter?”

“I won’t see the test results without him but...” Alexandra shrugged. “I’m pretty certain.”

“Look at those curls, darling,” Lucy chuckled at her husband. “They can’t belong to anyone but Cormoran’s child. And she’s got his exact same eye colour.”

“The resemblance is quite remarkable indeed.” Greg nodded, and smiled small. “Well, welcome then.”

“Thanks, Uncle Greg,” Alexandra chuckled at his face of complete surprise and he left. “Is that how I should call you? Uncle Greg and Aunt Lucy?” she asked, turning to look at Lucy, who blushed shyly.

“Anyway you want is fine, Al. Although my sons do call your father Uncle Corm, if it serves of any guidance.”

“Thanks,” Alexandra smiled warmly at her. Although she knew her new family wasn’t perfect, there was a warm feeling in her chest upon knowing she wasn’t alone anymore.

 

 


	17. Bullets make ideas sink in

“Oh, there you are,” Robin smiled at Alexandra as she joined them at the table, after having disappeared for a moment to attend a work-related call. Robin had taken her second painkiller in sixteen hours and was enjoying a moment of painless existence. She was still worried sick about Strike, but also confident he would be alright. “I’ve got good news for you.”

“Did the doctor call and say dad ran away from the office?” Alexandra joked sitting next to her in the cramped dining room. Robin snorted.

“That’d be absolutely wonderful, but no. I did some investigation on your grandparents in the moments my head felt less terrible and managed to find out there is a record in Southampton for a Kenneth and Maeve Gavernier having arrived along with a young daughter, Olivia, and changed their surname to Wright. So at this point if that test said you’re not Cormoran’s, I’d honestly be surprised, we’d have to do a serious in deep investigation,” commented Robin while having some food. “I forgot to tell you, with all this mess and my head but... there’s that. I couldn’t find that your mum ever went to another school, but I imagine...”

“She got a tutor,” finished Alexandra.

“Yeah. Makes sense, they were probably trying to pretend a teenager wasn’t having a child, kids get cruel.”

“Ugh, a classmate of mine had a child two years ago, so tell me about it,” Alexandra grimaced. “My grandpa said no sex until I’m twenty-one.” They laughed.

“I think your grandpa and your father are actually the same breed of man,” Nick joked with a chuckle. “Wait until he sees you with a boyfriend, I’m going to live for that.”

“Speaks the person who’s having two girls,” Greg teased. Nick paled a little.

“Well dad will never have to worry about that ‘cause...” Alexandra made a half-shrug. “I’m not quite into boys. Although I think I’ve had more hook-ups and girlfriends than my father in his entire teenage life.” She didn’t think no one there would be homophobic, it seemed too much of a nice vibe. And indeed, they laughed more than anything else.

“At least I won’t be the only focus of his overprotective wrath anymore,” Robin winked at her.

“So you think he’s just going to walk out of this?” Alexandra asked around.

“Not walk precisely,” Nick joked. “But yes, sure. He lost a leg in a freaking explosion, and two of the bullets didn’t even hit important places. He’ll be fine, he’s... well, your father. I mean, I’d rather be hyper-positive.” He shrugged.

“Our business, however, won’t,” Robin bit her lip. “I can’t work, and your father can’t even stand up right now, and we need to focus in his recovery and make sure he makes it back so... the office needs to close for a while. I’m sorry Al.”

“Sorry? Cormoran goes first,” Alexandra nodded. “We’ll close for as long as we have to, I can put money for my father’s care. I’ve got savings.” Robin smiled small.

“I wouldn’t worry about that, but there is one thing I do have to ask you,” said Robin softly looking at Alexandra. “Look, I know finding your family must be a tremendous thing and you’ve got about a billion things to discuss with Cormoran, but whenever he’s up for visits and start being awake... you need to really put him first. As much as this is a shock to you, imagine to a man that never expected to have kids, and I highly doubt he’s thought that much about what paternity is really going to mean for him. He shouldn’t be eating his brains out about that when he still has three fresh bullet wounds, okay?” Alexandra nodded again.

“I know, I know. I’m still going to call him Cormoran to his face, it’s still a bit weird to think of calling my boss dad in front of him and I don’t want him to flip either,” said Alexandra maturely. “I’ve waited eighteen years, I can wait a few months more, as long as he does get better.”

“He will,” Ilsa affirmed. “Otherwise he’s going to get full pregnant mama’s wrath.”

“D’you think he’ll like it if I read him ‘Catullus’? It’s my favourite book.” asked Alexandra all of the sudden.

“No way!” Nick shouted and, despite Alexandra’s confusion and the difficult circumstances, they couldn’t help but roar in laughter.

Father and daughter had the same favourite book.

**. . .**

“You’re too young for that filth,” a murmur escaped Strike’s lips. A week after Strike had been shot, Robin and Alexandra were in his room visiting him, now that he had his own room, and Alexandra was reading some of Catullus’ best poems –or so they thought- very naturally in Latin, by Strike’s bedside. They thought him asleep despite his lack of aggressive snoring, so they weren’t expecting for him to talk.

“Corm?” Alexandra leaned forward towards the pale man who lied on the bed. He was now breathing with the only assistance of an oxygen cannula, but he hadn’t been awake yet for longer than two seconds every now and then, from how weak he was. 

One bullet had broken his sternum in half, but fortunately, the bone had still managed to trap the bullet in its fissure before it reached an organ. Another had landed in his stomach, fortunately staying there, and the third had landed straight in his right thigh, which meant his half-leg was now twice impaired, but at least it hadn’t reached bone. The recovery would be long though and Ilsa had already made a fake lawsuit so the lift of their building was fixed soon enough.

“I said,” Strike cleared his throat. “Catullus is too filthy for my daughter.” He smiled small and opened his eyes a little. Alexandra grinned at him. Robin stood up to look over her shoulder and beamed.

“How are you feeling, grumpy dad?” asked Robin. Strike puffed.

“Miserable,” he sighed. His face was still pale, his lips of a faint pink, and the bags under his eyes more evident than ever. He looked to have aged twenty years. Robin smiled sadly and moved to the other side of his bed, absentmindedly passing a hand through his unruly curls. “Did you see the results?” Strike asked Alexandra, slurring slightly.

“I do not want to see them without you,” said Alexandra. “Whatever the truth is, we should find it at once, right?” Strike nodded.

“Thank you. Would you please go fetch them, right now? I could use a moment with Robin,” he looked at her with pleading eyes and Alexandra smiled, standing up.

“Before I go, may I ask you something?” Alexandra asked. Strike nodded again. “Why did you leave like that?” Strike didn’t immediately answer. He first took a deep breath and then looked at her with sad eyes.

“I barely remember anything, Al. Last I remember, I was in Southampton after leaving you...” he seemed lost in thought for a moment. “I never wanted for your mum to do things alone. I wish I had been right by her side when you were born and she died... I truly did care for her, you know? I wouldn’t call it love but... she was a dear friend. I could’ve loved her,” his voice sounded too soft, too weak, but he looked at her with eyes full of affection and managed a small smile. “In nineteen years, you’ve become a woman and I’ve become a man with quite the past and quite the list of people who would love to see me wish to be dead. What’s the scariest about being your father is not you, Alexandra. It will never be you. Is the idea that someone’s going to hurt you because of that, and of that only. So I can only be unsurprised to be told I’m here because I was found hurt in the same place Whittaker was found dead. If I am responsible of that, as I probably am... then that is why I left like that. Because I won’t consent a reality in which he can share a world with you.” Alexandra nodded slowly and then leaned to place a kiss on his unruly curls.

“Don’t die while I’m gone,” Alexandra did a small half smile and nodded towards Robin, who nodded back, before leaving them alone. Strike sighed and closed his eyes, and Robin sat on the verge of his bed, moving to hold his hand, the wrist bandaged from the IV.

“For a man who didn’t want to be a father, you’re doing quite a good job,” said Robin with her lips curved into a soft smile. Strike snorted a laugh. “Why so much rejection to fatherhood though?”

“For reasons only an equal could understand, Robin,” said Strike tiredly. His eyes opened to scan the room briefly, looking at the window, the chest of drawers on one side, of a pale brown colour, and the armchair in another. “I’ve always liked to be the owner of my own life. Being independent, you know? Having a woman by my side if luck stroke, the organised, neat life of the military, travel, never having to take care of anyone but myself... And this world never seemed nice enough to bring a child to it. But Alexandra is alive and I could never wish she wasn’t, I’m not as heartless as my sister may believe when I offend her with my anti-fatherhood views.” He joked dryly. “I care for Ali. Do I have any idea how are we going to work this father-daughter thing? No. But I’m calm because I know she’s a grown woman who doesn’t need me to take care of her. All I have to do is to support her and protect her the best I can, and be there for her... and I did that with you from the start so why wouldn’t I do that with her?” Robin nodded.

“You know what I’ve always admired about you?” Robin commented. He raised his eyebrows curiously. “You always do the best with the little you have. You always have good intentions. I think that’s what’ll make you an excellent father. You may not have any idea of what you’re doing... but you know how to hug when one’s sad and to give the little you have. You know to listen and to respect and to protect... so no matter how little you have, she’ll always be happy to call you dad. She’s doing it already, behind your back. Heard her call Lucy aunty last night. All she wants is the happiness of family... and you surely give her that. You already make her so happy, and you haven’t done more than welcome her with open arms like you welcomed me, you realise?” Strike smiled sincerely. “And we’re both happier women because of that.”

“Well it does give me a bit of vertigo to think of being called dad, but... can I tell you a secret?” Robin smiled. “I don’t give a shit what that paper says. She’s my family. She feels like family. Just like you. And there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you so... she can be sure I will stay, at the very least. If she needs me to be her dad, and needs my family to be hers, then that’s what she’ll have. Just like my mum welcomed Shanker like a son. She needs us, Robin. I can’t turn my back on that.” Robin caressed his face softly. It felt like they were together, even if there hadn’t been a kiss or a declaration of such intentions. Robin felt she could kiss him if she wanted, and he would greet it, but she restrained herself. She wanted to do things properly.

“I think somehow the agency became our ship, didn’t it?” Robin shrugged. “To me, it kept me together and made me be me, unapologetically, and hence made me happier than I’ve ever been. To you, it even became a home at some point, literally,” she teased, making him smile a little. “And somehow Alexandra fits in it like the missing piece. She’s got the best of you... and a little of me... and then all herself. I was worried the new secretary would feel intrusive but it just feels... part of us. Like she was another stray dog doomed to come in at some point. She’s hardworking, and more than good at what she does, and she’s kind. She wanted to go find you herself, wouldn’t be scared off by Whittaker. Stubborn like a true Strike,” Strike chuckled. In one of his brief moments of clarity, she had told him what had happened. “She is where she should be. That paper won’t change that.”

“It certainly won’t,” Strike nodded. He looked exhausted and Robin’s caresses made him close his eyes again.

“You should take a nap before Alexandra comes back. You’re exhausted,” said Robin getting up from bed.

“Will you stay?” Strike asked opening his eyes a little. “I hate hospitals a bit less when you’re here.” Robin smiled.

“Of course I’ll stay. I belong beside you, partner.” Robin leaned to kiss his forehead and stroke his hair until the room filled with his snores. Eventually, she settled onto the armchair, and watched him sleep.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this chapter and thanks for the comments and support!
> 
> If you like to, you can follow me in my tumblr https://thetrunkofthenighttraveler.tumblr.com/ where I basically post about Cormoran Strike and its actors, quotes, bits of Harry Potter and a tiny bit of Krashlyn (two USWNT players that are lesbian TOGETHER).
> 
> Hugs to you all!


	18. Results

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone who gives me spoilers on Lethal White will receive a distance hug and special mentions. Love me some spoilers.

Eventually, Strike and Alexandra read the analysis results together squeezed in his bed, and the paternity was proven. The DNA coincidence surprised no one with 99.999% points, and both felt themselves relax enormously with the results. That was it, it was the truth, and there was no more intrigue about it. Upon Alexandra’s request, they decided to forget about how the results changed their relationship for a while and focus on Strike’s health.

Two weeks after Strike was shot, Robin felt recovered enough to throw herself into work intensively, along with Alexandra, so they could get ahead with their delay of work. It also proved to be a distraction while waiting for the trial about Matthew and for Strike to recover, facing an infection that logically struck him, from his stomach wound, and that would keep him in the hospital for at least another week. Strike, however, felt lucky the doctors had sworn time after time he wouldn’t be losing his maimed leg.

One weekend afternoon that week, a few friends and family reunited in his hospital room, and Alexandra had a surprise for her father. Robin and she packed-up at the office and hurried to the hospital.

“Why are you so excited?” asked Robin with a smirk as they rushed through hospital corridors.

“Can’t I be excited to see my father?”

“Yes,” Robin looked at Alexandra’s sneaky expression. “But you weren’t in such a rush yesterday.” Alexandra giggled cheerfully and opened Strike’s bedroom, moving inside.

“Hello,” Alexandra saluted. Strike and Nick stopped chatting abruptly and Strike smiled at her.

“Oh look who came, two of my favourite persons,” Strike commented. He was propelled up in bed against many pillows, seemingly chatting with Nick, Ilsa, and a man and woman neither Robin or Alexandra knew. There was also another pair of unknown men, Lucy, and an unknown lady.

“Ugh, you’ve gotten soft and cheesy,” Alexandra commented with fake disgust. Robin snorted a laugh and Strike smiled.

“Well girls, let me introduce you to my oldest friend Dave and his wife Penny,” Strike pointed to the man and woman closest to Nick and Ilsa. “This is my daughter Alexandra and my partner and friend, Robin Ellacott. Also, this is my step-brother Al Rokeby...”

“Ah yes, I remember. How are you Robin?” Al stood up and shook their hands, as gentleman as ever.

“Great thanks,” Robin smiled and Al smiled back.

“And you must be my brand new niece and namesake, what a pleasure,” he shook Alexandra’s hand and she smiled.

“Woah excuse me but I did not expect a Rokeby to be so... nice,” Alexandra admitted with astonishment. Al laughed.

“It tends to happen,” Al admitted.

“And this is my Uncle and Aunt, Ted and Joan, from Cornwall, remember I told you about them?” Strike added looking at Alexandra.

“Oh, it’s so great to finally meet you, I’ve heard so many good things,” Alexandra grinned at Ted and Joan, who smiled back.

“Us too, dear. Hugs?” Joan offered. They also hugged Robin and once all the greetings were done, they took seats between the small sofa of Strike’s newest room ‘where people of better health are’, as Strike had proudly announced, an armchair, and Al, Nick and Dave stood up forming a small ‘u’ with the backs on the wall.

“So many visitors today,” Ilsa chuckled. “How’s your head Robin?”

“Better if I give myself a painkiller every eight hours as a trait,” said Robin in a light tone. “Got concussed recently.” She added to Al’s curious face. He nodded.

“The perks of the job isn’t it?” said Al. Alexandra had a feeling he was unsuccessfully trying to get in Robin’s pants, and Robin simply smiled.

“So, excuse my impoliteness interrupting the conversation you were having, but I have exciting news,” Alexandra smiled at Strike, sitting on the verge of his bed. The colour had come back to his face and he looked surprised.

“Really? What is it then, did the Arsenal win something I didn’t hear of?”

“I’m afraid not, harsh loss last weekend,” Alexandra grimaced. “No, thing is, I decided to go back to study. Well, Open University, so I can still work.”

“Are you gonna finish your degree in Ancient History?” Robin asked with interest. Alexandra beamed.

“Better. I’m doing Criminology. Finished the paperwork today,” Alexandra beamed looking at Strike, who was astonished.

“You’re kidding,” he said.

“Not at all. I want to be more useful in the office, so...” she shrugged. “I like catching bad guys, becomes kind of a drug.”

“It sure does,” Robin looked at Strike, amused, and he snorted.

“But Al, you don’t need university for that. Neither Robin or I completed university, and we’re doing well,” said Strike.

“Is it a bad thing then, going to criminology?” Alexandra frowned, thinking that perhaps she had made a wrong choice. 

“It’s not, as long as you absolutely want to do it. I’m just saying you don’t _have_ to do it. If you’d want to get trained properly, Robin and I would be happy to do so when the time is right,” replied Strike.

“Well, I do want to do it,” Alexandra nodded. “I miss studying.” Strike laughed.

“You definitely didn’t get that from me. I’m happy for you, who knows, maybe you’ll get smarter than us and have to teach us to do our job,” he joked playfully. Alexandra grinned.

“Will you go to my graduation then?”

“Easy tiger, it’s years ahead,” Strike elbowed her. “Of course I’ll go. Graduation parties mean beer and food still, right?”

“I believe so,” Alexandra chuckled.

“Then surely,” then Strike frowned. “Wait, did I miss you doing ballet or something? School theatre perhaps?” Alexandra shrugged.

“No, I’m not much into dancing or acting... I think all you missed were eighteen years of Taekwondo’s change of belt ceremonies and championships, teenage sleepovers and piano recitals.”

“You play the piano?” Lucy looked impressed. Alexandra nodded.

“The piano, the guitar, the banjo and the bongos. Kinda put my hands everywhere until it worked,” Alexandra shrugged. “It’s not really that surprising right? music runs in the family.” Strike looked pleased.

“Just tell me you know the Beatles and disapprove... what was his name?” he looked at Robin. “Deeby Mac?” Robin snorted a laugh, and nodded. “That’s not even music.”

“I know every word to ‘Let it be’ and puke on Justin Bieber, if that’s alright?” Alexandra suggested.

“Good girl,” Strike patted her thigh. “Keep it that way and we’d get along. Become a fan of the Spurs and I might disinherit you though.” Nick laughed.

“Like you’d have something to leave her in will, what, that disaster of attic?” Nick joked. “Or is it the collection of Latin poetry?”

“I speak Latin, it’s in my curriculum actually,” Alexandra pointed out. “And I kinda like the attic. Is a bit like a nest, proper for a Cormoran-t.” Strike chuckled.

“See? She’s one of my own.” Strike teased.

“But smoke on my face and we are done,” said Alexandra with false seriousness, making him smile.

“ _A fronte praecipitium, a tergo lupi_ ,” murmured Strike.

“ _Uh, bovina sancta_ ,” Alexandra replied. Strike snorted.

“Shit, there are two of them...” murmured Dave.

“ _Bene, cum Latine nescias, nolo manus meas in te maculare,_ ” said Alexandra with a smirk, looking at Dave. Strike laughed.

“ _Mea culpa_ ,” said Strike apologetically. Alexandra sniggered.

“I swear to God, if you two start speaking only Latin in the office, I’m out of there,” Robin warned jokingly. Strike chuckled and yawned big like a bear.

“Nah, Latin doesn’t give me the same satisfaction than a well-said, English, fuck.” Replied Strike, making her chuckle and roll eyes.

“Okay my brother is the Latin weirdo but where did you learn?” asked Lucy with interest in her brand new niece. Alexandra shrugged.

“I just liked to spend time at the public library, one day felt intrigued by the books in Latin, and took classes of it so I could read them all. My grandparents didn’t even realise I was reading the dirtiest stuff Catullus ever wrote until it was too late,” Strike sniggered. He liked his daughter a bit more every day. It was like Robin, you met a fascinating layer under a fascinating layer, infinitely.

“Yeah, he does have quite the words about phalluses and fucking certain people in certain places,” Ted shook his head, but giggled. “Aren’t you too young for that?”

“Well, thirteen-year-old me certainly was but...” Alexandra shrugged non-apologetic as Strike laughed covering his face with one big hand because he knew he shouldn’t find it fun that his daughter learnt such things at such age. “I mean, one sees worse in TV, right? At least Catullus knew how to rhyme.” Strike laughed so hard he ended up wincing in pain and holding his chest.

“Jesus Christ, fuck...” Strike coughed and rubbed his chest. “Woman, you’re a dangerous thing.” Alexandra mainly laughed and got up.

“Anyways, I should go. I’m supposed to receive furniture for my new flat today and someone needs to be there to open the door and organise things,” said Alexandra.

“Pity,” murmured Strike. “See you later?”

“Sure.”

After the appropriate farewells to everyone, Alexandra left. Strike stirred in bed, getting a bit more comfortable. As long as he didn’t move his torso or his right half-leg, he was good.

“She seems like a good kid,” commented Joan looking at Strike, who shrugged.

“Hopefully she is, she was raised by two people I was never the fondest of. I can always decontaminate her. Are you sure you’re good alone in the office?” he asked for what was possibly the hundredth time, looking at Robin, who nodded.

“You know two people can manage, Al learns fast,” Robin shrugged.

“Yeah, but your head was just getting better and...”

“...It will continue to get better. Oh, come on, you did the job legless,” joked Robin, making him roll eyes and half-smile, nodding.

“Fine. But I’ll be back as soon as possible.”

“Don’t doubt it.”

 


	19. If she's not the one...?

Robin couldn’t sleep. She kept seeing Strike bleeding out under her hands, his pale face, hearing his pained gasps, every time she closed her eyes. She rolled over in the big bed and reached for one of the painkillers on her nightstand, gulped it, and got up, stretching. Checking her watch, Robin saw it wasn’t six yet, but she didn’t want to keep rolling in bed. She knew what to do. Robin opened her closet, pulling out clothes to wear, and threw her pyjama inside a big purse, along with her phone, wallet, keys. Using a small piece of paper, she left a note:

‘ _Left early to do some work. Don’t worry. –R’_

Robin used a magnet to leave the note on the fridge, took her purse, and left. She drove her Land Rover to Denmark Street and got in the brand new lift, punching the number 2, which led her two storeys above the ground floor, and then used her own copy of the keys to open Strike’s flat. His snores reverberated in the attic softly, and although she knew what she was doing wasn’t right and probably was pretty wrong, but she got back into her pyjamas moving in the darkness, and moved to Strike’s bed. The big man was propelled on pillows, and thanks to the painkillers, deep asleep. Following a hunch, she slid under the covers next to him and squeezed against him, holding onto his arm with one arm and pressing her face against his shoulder, staring at his sleeping face. Calmness instantly washed over her. Strike suddenly awoke and looked at her, startled.

“What the...?!”

“It’s just me,” hurried Robin. “Just Robin. I’m sorry.” Strike immediately relaxed and closed his eyes again.

“What are you doing?” he asked softly, turning his head to look at her.

“I couldn’t sleep,” whispered Robin.

“So you came all the way here in the middle of the night?”

“It’s actually early morning and...” Robin shrugged. “I thought perhaps you couldn’t sleep either.” Strike let a breath out and his hand moved to press over hers on his arm.

“I wasn’t sleeping as good as I’ll do with you here,” Strike murmured, glad the darkness hid his blushing. Robin’s breath caught. What were they doing? What did this mean? What was going on? And despite the many questions in her head, she moved and kissed his forehead. Strike smiled in the darkness and his calloused thumb rubbed the back of her hand, slowly drifting back to sleep.

A few hours later, she woke up and smiled smelling Strike’s clothes against her nose. As she opened her eyes, she realised her face was against his strong chest, and her arm thrown over his stomach. He had a strong arm around her, his fingers drawing circles on her shoulder, and she realised, Strike was so  _big_ . His torso was like hugging a giant rock, but at the same time it was soft and warm and nice, and made her want to sleep again. However, she was worried of hurting him, so she retreated his arm to the side that she knew wasn’t hurt, and, seeing it was sunny and Strike was most certainly awake –she could feel his eyes on her- and she braved-up to look at him, blushing instantly. His lips were curved so slightly into a small smile and he was looking at her in a way he had never looked at her, and that made her blush. It was intense, and warm, and sweet all at once.

“Morning,” said Robin shyly. “What time is it?” she asked nuzzling back against his chest.

“Past nine,” answered Strike with a hoarse voice. “Did you sleep alright?” Robin hummed in agreement and then there was knocking against the door, and it open slightly.

“Dad? Are you awake?” Alexandra whispered-yelled. Robin quickly pulled the covers and hid underneath and Strike muffled a laugh.

“Yes Al, but don’t come in, I’m naked. What’s up?” Strike made sure the covers covered Robin’s bright hair. They weren’t doing anything wrong, but Alexandra needn’t to think they were up to something. Were they?

“Robin hasn’t arrived and is not picking up her phone. I’m starting to worry.” Alexandra said with the door barely opened.

“Don’t worry, she texted me she had to go to the bank and will be here a bit late.” Said Strike.

“Ah, alright. See you later then.”

“See you, have fun at work!” Once the door was closed, Robin waited until she heard the faint sound of Alexandra walking downstairs back to the office before she came out of her hiding place and Strike giggled. “One would’ve thought you were naked, hiding so fast.” Robin blushed hard to her ears.

“She doesn’t need to speculate about us,” Robin shrugged out of her sheets and grabbed her purse with her clothes. “I’ll be in the bathroom!”

“Wait!” Strike called. “Before you go, would you mind peeking under the sheets and see how’s my thigh looking, since I can’t bend? It’d be good if I could use the prosthesis.” Robin complied kneeling on the bed and lifting up the sheet. Strike held his breath as she looked closer to his stump. She had never been so close to it and she felt her heart hammering in her chest, but also moved he trusted her with this.

“I uh...” Robin cleared her throat. “I’ll have to lift your boxers’ sleeve up a little.” Robin flushed saying so and Strike hummed, looking away and feeling his ears warmer as her delicate fingers moved the underwear a little, so close to his crotch, that she tried not to look at. “Yeah uh, the bandage looks good, but the skin still seems delicate, I wouldn’t use the prosthesis yet.” Robin put the covers back in place, nervous. She had seen his bulge and for some reason felt warm between her legs. He has such strong, thick legs too. Strike nodded.

“Thanks, Robin...”

“I’ll uh, head to the bathroom.”

“Walk softly or she’ll hear you!”

Strike gave himself a moment to calm himself and collect his thoughts, calming his pounding heart, before attempting to get out of bed. With only one leg, and a bullet having carved a hole in the quadriceps of half a leg, he was usually lying down or sitting down, unable to put his leg through the strain of the prosthesis. Such amount of inactivity meant his back started to ache, and he started to feel in too bad shape for his comfort. But then again, trying to move in the slightest, even breathing, caused his sternum to hurt and his stomach too, so he wasn’t going to use the crutches. He was barely eating and had already lost a ton of weight, but he felt like a dog biting his own tail, no matter what he tried to do, something suffered.

Despite his high pain threshold, by the time he made it to a sitting position with his leg and a half hung towards the floor, Strike was sweating cold and hugging himself, panting and trying to breathe in a way that didn’t hurt. Even Robin had finished in the bathroom and came back fully dressed, immediately frowning and rushing to him at the pathetic sight he imagined he composed.

“I’m fine,” said Strike hurriedly as Robin squatted in front of him worriedly.

“I know,” Robin nodded. “Do you need to use the bathroom?”

“Yes,” sighed Strike.

“Alright then, would you like me to help you get there? Because as fine as I’m sure you are, I don’t think you’re supposed to be using your prosthesis any time soon.” Strike nodded, putting an arm around her shoulders.

“I can hop,” said Strike stubbornly, and Robin nodded as she helped him stand on his one leg, putting an arm around his hips and pretending not to notice his panting, the way he clenched his teeth, or his pained sounds between his teeth.

“I’m going to need to go slow though,” said Robin, so he would feel it was for her, not for him. “You’re heavy.” Strike nodded, incapable of answering. Fortunately the flat was so small they made it soon to the bathroom and Robin waited outside. When Strike came back, he was two shades paler. 

“Thank you, Robin,” said Strike letting her help him to the armchair, where he flopped unceremoniously, rubbing the sweat off his head. “I’m alright.”

“Okay,” Robin dared to caress his curls softly as he recovered on the armchair. Strike looked at her intensely from his spot and they stayed in silence looking at each other for a moment. Strike thought then of the damned Kairos moment, and asked himself what the hell was going on between them. Robin then moved to sit on the verge of the bed, that was near him. “You should’ve called me. We’re partners. We’re a pack. You should’ve told me.”

“What are you talking about?” Strike grumbled.

“We both know you went and confronted Whittaker on your own and he shot you. You may not remember it clearly but that doesn’t mean you don’t know it,” Robin surprised herself feeling actual resentment towards him. “You spend your days chastising me for going solo and then you go and...”

“You were convalescent, gravely may I add...”

“Then you should’ve at least told me,” hissed Robin, clenching her teeth. “And you shouldn’t have gone alone. You should’ve called Shanker at least, or Wardle, tell them what you were up to, tell me, come back, talk things out with me and come up with a plan together, and when I felt better...”

“Every second wasted Alexandra was in da...”

“You still shouldn’t have gone alone!” Robin took a breath, glaring at him. “What did you expect? If I had been there a moment late, you’d be dead. Dead, Cormoran. Is that worth it?”

“Alexandra is worth it all.”

“Yeah?” Robin laughed dryly. “And then what do we do, Cormoran? You die and the agency dies with you. I can’t do it alone and you know it. You die and Alexandra loses a father he had just known. You die, and we’d be praying anyone else of the people who want you dead learns of her existence and kills her. The reality is that you got paranoid thinking someone would kill her any second and went on solo to foolishly risk your life and you almost ended it, that’s the reality. And you know why you did that? Because you couldn’t have a pair of balls to come and talk to us. Tell us how scary it is to have a kid, how you’ll always be afraid something will happen to her, how anxious that makes you. If you had, Nick would’ve understood perfectly well. Ilsa. Lucy. Greg. And they would’ve comforted you and reassured you, and you wouldn’t have been so paranoid and none of this would be happening.”

“Woah...” Strike shook his head. “I must say I didn’t expect you to blame the victim.”

“Oh, come on!” Robin stood up, indignant. “Victim? You went alone into Whittaker’s drug lab, tell me, what did you expect to happen?” Strike didn’t answer and Robin nodded. “Whittaker is a murderer and the bullet wounds in your body are his fault, but you aren’t some innocent boy who was just walking around the street. I don’t know how you did it but I know you caused the fire, you planned for all of the gang to die as they did, and Whittaker caught you when you were leaving and shot you, and you didn’t have time to get out before the explosion happened. Police may never know, but I do know, Cormoran. You’re not fooling me.”

“Why are you even so pissed?” Strike asked. “So what if what you say is true? I had my reasons, the bastard killed my mother and would’ve killed my daughter if he had had the chance, I did what I was supposed to do. You know police would’ve laughed in my face. I’ve got absolutely no regrets. I’m a veteran, it’s not like I wouldn’t know what I was doing, and I’ve worked alone for most of my life, so I can manage.”

“Because you can’t die, bugger!” Robin glared at him. “You can’t die, understood? You’re not alone anymore. You work with me. No one here goes solo.”

“Christ’s sakes Robin,” Strike murmured. “As if I was your boyfriend here, I’m your boss, I’ll do what I deem best.”

Robin scowled at him and suddenly she was up and out of the flat. Strike sighed.

Strike sat there for a long time, until he was so bored he decided it was time to resign to the wheelchair. He needed to get back to work soon. Struggling some, Strike managed to hop onto the wheelchair that had been used to get him to his attic from the hospital days previously. He wheeled himself around to get dressed and then managed to get outside the attic, into the lift and down to the office.

“Good morning!” said Strike enthusiastically wheeling himself into the office. Just the sight of it boosted his mood per ten, almost making him forget the fight with Robin. To his surprise, Alexandra and Ilsa were drinking tea on the farting sofa, and both looked surprised to see him as well.

“Hi, aren’t you supposed to be resting?” Ilsa raised her eyebrows at him.

“I am resting, I’m sitting,” Strike shrugged. “Did Robin come?”

“She came, she looked pissed, grabbed her bag, said she was going on surveillance and off she went,” said Alexandra, giving her a look that, despite the little time Strike had known her, made him gulp and feel guilty.

“What?” Strike shrugged. “I did nothing!”

“Well I heard you two arguing upstairs and I could’ve sworn she was in your attic when I came looking for her before.” Said Alexandra. Ilsa drank her tea looking knowingly at him and Strike tried unsuccessfully not to blush.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Robin sleeps at Ilsa’s, I haven’t seen her all day.”

“Actually, she left a note today saying she’d go early to the office, and when Nick saw it, he was early going for his morning exercise routine, so...” Ilsa shrugged. “If she wasn’t here, she could’ve only been with you.”

“And before you lie, I smelled her, Cormoran. She has this flowered perfume super recognisable, even your office smells of it,” Alexandra smirked. “Besides, why else would you be awake early when you’re on recovery? Tell us, were you fucking?” Strike blushed furiously and Ilsa laughed.

“That mouth!” said Strike.

“Says the one whose main vocabulary consists on ‘fuck’, ‘shit’, ‘crap’ and Catullus’ most depraved poetry,” Alexandra giggled and Ilsa laughed harder.

“I wasn’t _making love_ ,” the girls roared in laughter, but Strike proceeded pretending to be busying himself with tea and to not hear them, “to Robin. We were merely talking.”

“Then why did you tell me not to come in because you were naked?” added Alexandra, inquiring. “I know you weren’t naked last night, when I went to help you were dinner, you were in your pyjamas, and if you didn’t have sex with Robin and weren’t getting dressed, you shouldn’t have been naked. And I know you weren’t getting dressed because why would you be up _and_ dressed so early and not even come down for another hour? So either you and Robin were having sex and you were really naked, or you lied saying you were naked, so I wouldn’t come in because Robin was there in a compromising situation...” her eyes widened. “Was she sucking you off under the sheets?” Ilsa cried of laughter and Strike got so red and so warm he felt like the sun.

“WHAT?!” Strike left his tea untouched. “No! Absolutely not!” Alexandra giggled. “Fine! She was there, but she wasn’t sucking me off! We were just... sharing the bed. Both fully clothed, not even kisses happened. She just couldn’t sleep out of worry for me, that’s all, and we are friends, we have each other’s backs, and I let her stay if she could sleep better that way.”

“Aw...” Alexandra pouted. “That’s sweet. So why were you fighting?”

“Why am I being interrogated?”

“Are you seriously going to be surprised _your_ daughter makes many questions?” Ilsa raised eyebrows, incredulous. “For real?” Strike rolled eyes and Alexandra nodded once.

“Fine...” grumbled Strike. “We weren’t fighting, we just became a bit passionate talking about work. It wasn’t a fight. We had a small disagreement, nothing important, and that’s all. No more questions Al, I’m tired.” Added Strike raising a finger to stop her. She puffed, but nodded. “Robin wouldn’t tell you anything, right?” Strike looked at Alexandra.

“I didn’t see her, I just came a bit before you,” replied Ilsa. “I was doing some maternity clothes’ shopping and when I realised I was around here, I thought it’d be nice to see my friends.” She pointed to the bags Strike hadn’t seen at a side of the sofa.

“How many clothes do you need for four months?” asked Strike with a light frown. Ilsa raised her eyebrows.

“Four months? Do you really think all of this is going to vanish the second I push three kids out of my vagina?” Ilsa pointed to her body and Alexandra giggled. “Besides, I’m a lawyer, got a strict dress code and can’t wear the same stuff to every trial...” Strike looked impressed.

“I admire you a little,” murmured Strike. Ilsa snorted a laugh.

“So, what’s happening between Robin and you?” commented Ilsa casually, as Strike, sitting on his wheelchair, drank his tea. “You are... pretty close lately. Without those famous strict boundaries you used to have.” She spoke casually but Strike could tell she was using the same tone she used to get people to confess in trials, and he narrowed eyes.

“Dramatic times will do that to you,” Strike simply said.

“She knows you don’t see her as only a friend, dad,” said Alexandra. “And you know she doesn’t see you as only a friend either. You two should date, would make a cute couple.”

“Exactly!” added Ilsa enthusiastically. “She’s sweet, brave, smart, shares your interests, is beautiful, badass, super kind and we all love her, and most importantly, she’s not completely nuts. What else do you need?” Strike sighed.

“Uh, I don’t know if you girls have noticed, but one, she’s just going through a complicated storm of a divorce and is in a sensitive state, dealing with her own storms and a bit delicate. On the other hand, I am not the right man for her. Okay fine I like her but is just...” Strike shrugged. “Is nothing serious to act on, I wouldn’t compromise our friendship just because she’s attractive, come on. She’s just a friend and that’s how she must stay.”

“Oh, why are you always so stubborn?” Ilsa sighed in exasperation, leaning back on the sofa. “Oggy, you are Robin’s Nick, alright? The sooner you realise, the better.”

“We are not Nick and you Ilsa, I’ve told you, she’s not for me and I’m not for her. She deserves someone closer to her age, attractive, young, strong, intelligent, fun, someone who is truly for her. Someone who’ll marry her and give her the good house near good schools and the children that she’s dreamt with. She’s the girl one marries and gives her a fairytale, not a hook-up. And I am no blue prince.” Said Strike without self-pity, merely stating facts.

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard, and I’ve been your friend for my whole life so that’s saying something,” Ilsa grumbled. Strike glared at her.

“Ilsa’s right,” Alexandra interrupted the work she had gone back to and put her chin on her hand, looking at Cormoran, whom she had recently started calling ‘dad’ to his face every now and then. “Dad, come on, you know you’re a wonderful man for her. So what if you’re ten years older and not exactly the typical blue prince? You’re like Shrek. You’re twice the man those Kens wish they could be. And you almost married some girl, I saw it on the Internet, so marriage is clearly not a problem. And children? Now you have me, another one isn’t going to put your life upside down exactly, and I can babysit so you can... _make love_. You’re attractive, strong, selfless, brave, protective, smart as hell, and she laughs like crazy with you. I wouldn’t find it strange if she loved you without knowing.”

“Okay, perhaps the timing isn’t right, I’ll give you that, but come on...” Ilsa pouted. “If she’s not the one who is it?” Strike let a long sigh out.

“I would appreciate it if you two let me live. Lucy already does this part,” Strike finished his tea and tapped Alexandra’s desk. “Pass me some work, please.”

 


	20. Ali's birthday

“Hey,” Strike smiled at Robin as she entered the inner office later in the afternoon. Strike had been doing some research for the cases so all Robin had to do was go out and do the physical job. She looked tired and unsurprised to see him there, Alexandra had probably already told her he was there. “I’ve got three cases advanced for you, here, and Alexandra’s working the Carter case...”

“Thanks,” Robin took the files and flopped on her chair. They worked in silence for a while until a knock in the door interrupted them. Alexandra came in.

“It’s seven, I’m going home,” said Alexandra. “Want me to help you with dinner dad?”

“No, it’s alright. Be safe and text me when you’re home, alright?” said Strike. Alexandra rolled eyes at his paternal protection, but nodded. “Goodnight, Al.”

“Yeah, sweet dreams,” added Robin smiling briefly at her.

“Same,” Alexandra nodded. “Don’t stay here late, please. Neither of you.” She left and when Strike heard Alexandra’s steps going down to the street, he turned to look at Robin. He felt like a fool and sighed, wheeling himself to her.

“Hey...” Strike patted her knee and she sighed and reluctantly, left her work to look at him tiredly. “I’m sorry I’ve been a jerk. I’m sorry I risked my life so recklessly and didn’t realise you’d suffer so much if I died. I should’ve at least told you. I shouldn’t have disappeared. It won’t happen again.”

Robin stared at him with sad eyes as if trying to see the truth in his eyes, and then she nodded.

“My life would suck without you, you know?” Strike smiled sadly and nodded.

“Well, I never want to leave it. That way, you’ll never have to know.”

Like magnets, they came to each other, their foreheads resting against the other’s, Robin’s arms around his neck and Strike’s hands on her hips. They both breathed calm at last, relaxing in the comfort of each other without the boundaries that had traditionally restrained them.

“My bed’s too big, if you want to share it again tonight?” murmured Strike after a while. Robin smiled, her lips curving against her neck, and nodded.

**. . .**

“We can’t fall asleep yet,” murmured Robin against Strike’s shoulder, snuggled against him. Strike puffed, his eyes closed.

“Gimme a good reason?”

“Your daughter’s birthday?” Strike narrowed his eyes at her.

“That is tomorrow.”

“Yes, but I bet she’d love it if she started getting texts at exactly midnight. Is the kind of thing people enjoy. Remember she lost her family two months ago, she’s going to be sulking, most likely. Did you make reservations at the place Nick recommended?”

“Yeah...” Strike nuzzled into her hair, one of his enormous hands cupping the back of her head and keeping her close. It was romantic and intimate, even if they were, they insisted, just friends. Friends who comfort each other, that’s all.

He had suddenly come to the realisation that Alexandra’s entire family was dead. Everyone she trusted, everyone she grew up with, the ones who knew her the best, the ones who had always made sure her birthdays and Christmases were full of joy and she wouldn’t feel sad she had no parents. Olivia had been an only child, and she had only had one Uncle, who was never married, as far as Strike had known, and had never had children, at least by the time Strike had known Olivia. For what Alexandra had said, this seemed to have stayed like that, because she had had no cousins, no uncles or aunts, not grandparents. She had an adoptive mum and an adoptive dad who happened to actually be grandparents, and that’s how she saw them. They were the total of her family and now they were gone. Strike felt his stomach drop.

Robin seemed to sense it, and she looked up at him with a light frown in the darkness.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“I remember what it was like,” murmured Strike, his eyes fixed on the darkness. “Birthdays after my mother died. I turned 21 three days later.”

“Oh...” Robin frowned, and squeezed tighter against him. “I had no idea. That’s why you dislike your birthdays?”

“Well that and that it’s a birthday, I’m not fond of growing closer to forty, thanks,” Strike snorted a laugh. Robin smiled against his upper arm. “How am I going to...?” Strike puffed. “You know, make her feel like we’re family? So she doesn’t feel lonely again? How do we go from strangers to... father and daughter?”

“Fake it till you make it,” murmured Robin. “And I’d start by one hell of a birthday celebration. You know, just do what you think the best father in the world would do, until you become that person and it comes naturally. Act as if and then you assume the character.” Strike nodded slowly, and reached to grab his phone.

“At least texting is sort of easy...” Robin giggled.

“Sort of?”

“As easy as it is with my fingers, did you see how big they are?” Robin laughed hard and Strike chuckled, opening his texting app and finding Alexandra.

“Then brave-up and dare to say the things you’re too shy to tell her to her face?” Robin suggested, looking at his white face illuminated by the phone. She saw him nod and get on to texting. Soon he had given up, his fingers were fumbling with the damn device.

“Just pass me pen and paper, I think I need to write my daughter a proper letter. I’ll just send it as a picture, right?”

“Right,” Robin chuckled, turning the lamp on, since she was closer, and helping him sit up in bed comfortably against the pillows. Then she handed him paper and pen and sat amused at his face of concentration as he started at the blank sheet for a few moments before he started writing.

Strike had it hard to decide how to write, the tone to use. He didn’t feel like using the classical father tone, because his relationship with her was more of colleagues, being sarcastic and teasing constantly. Pretty much like with Robin. He figured if he shaped that kind of treatment into something more family-affective, then perhaps he found the right tone for her.

‘ _Dearest Alexandra,_

_Happy 19_ _th_ _birthday! When I turned 19, I got so drunk partying so hard with Nick, I barely remember the day. Don’t do that. I also got amazing birthday sex with a complete stranger. Also don’t do that, you could catch AIDS or a baby._

_I’d like to think that your best birthday present this time will be your paternal family, but unfortunately I don’t think that’s really the case. I know we don’t feel as such yet. But, you know what? I can gift you a promise. A promise to try our best. I know my sister is the most excited I’ve ever seen her about anything with you (she’s asked for you since like, her first word) so I know she’s definitely going to be an exemplar aunt just like she’s been a pretty incredible sister to me. Ted and Joan are naturals at accepting unexpected things, so no problem. I’d worry the most about me, so that’ll be my personal compromise. I want to be the best father I can be for you. Even if I never asked for this._

_Truth is, I didn’t want a kid for many reasons that don’t come to the case. But is also truth that, if I had gone to imagine myself as a father, and imagine a child just the way I’d wanted it, it’d be a lot like you. Astonishingly smart, skilled, brave, more than capable of defending themselves, sarcastic, funny, kind, loving, selfless, tenacious, stubborn, bright... and of course, so beautiful. Every time I look at you and I see all of this and much more in you, I can’t help but feel so proud, and wonder, how did I do such a good job at seventeen? How could my mess of DNA ever shape into someone so extraordinary? And is my belief that I did many fucked-up things when I was seventeen, but never in my life, no matter the medals I collect or the times my face shows up in the newspapers, have I done something as incredible as you. A whole, outstanding person. I believe your mother had more to do with it than I did, and her family did more than I could ever thank them for, but I like to be smug and think some of your best comes from me, in some weird way. I like to think I am that good, I have some pride. So if I had to be a father... I’m more than grateful the child I had to have was you. A person I can actually look up to._

_I want to learn and live with you all those experiences my friends with children and Aunt Lucy (woah, that’s weird), always brag about. Yes, we were stolen of some. I wasn’t there when you started talking in any language, or when you had your first steps. But I like to think that instead of losing 19 years with you, I gained which I hope are fifty, eighty years more. I never had a particular interest of reaching a very old age... but now I want us both to do it, so I can have more time with you. I want to be the first to threaten any partners, teach you to drive like a pro (something I’ll relegate to Robin, who’s a Fernando Alonso, but I’ll be laughing and mocking in the backseat for sure), and if you marry, I’ll proudly walk you down the aisle. Yes, we missed a lot... but we have so much more in front of us. And I plan on living it all, with you._

_I never had a father to look up to, just Ted, so I guess I’m going to try to be a mixture between Ted, my mum, and myself. I can’t promise I’ll always be outstanding (I’m new at this, in the end) but I can promise I’ll always try my best. Fortunately, I’ve got a great bunch of experienced advisors._

_After all, a woman as incredible as you, deserves at least the best Dad in the world. And I’ll spend the rest of my life working my butt off and learning as fast as I can, so when I die you can say you had the best Dad in the world, who just came a little late because he got lost in the damned British mail service._

_I never got to know your mother that well, although I did care very deeply for her and considered her a very dear friend, who knows, perhaps I would’ve dated her for years if she hadn’t left. And I would’ve helped raising you. But I knew her well enough to know for sure she’d be so, so proud if she could see you now, just like I am. She’d probably tell me something like ‘fuck Corm, how did we do this? It wasn’t even on purpose!’ tell you what, I don’t think you would’ve been so perfect even if we had made you on purpose. I was an accident too so, here’s something for you; Felix Culpa. Olivia would’ve, indeed, considered you the best accident of her life... and she would’ve felt so blessed to call you her daughter. I know I for sure feel I have the biggest responsibility on my shoulders being your daughter. Is like being crowned King all of the sudden. But if after all you’ve gone through you’ve become such an incredible person... then I think I can become a dad. You make it quite easy, after all, you come all made. Not like Ikea furniture._

_Anyway... I know even if this is a great day, the day the most precious thing I’ve got came, after all, I also know it probably sucks too. I know despite having so much family now, some very important people are missing. I know how that stings and I will never fill their shoes, nor try, but tell you what. You’ve got my mother’s face shape, and she’s gone, so that is proof that the people who are gone will always be with you somehow, you know? Sometimes you see it in the way you grab the steering wheel, the way you laugh, or the things you find funny. Other times, is a song, or a habit you didn’t realise you had picked. Or the way you walk. But there is always something of them in you, until the day you die, even when memories disappear._

_For as long as I get to be with you, I’ll try to love you as hard as they all would, and then as hard as the best dad ever would. I might not know how to do many daddy things... but I sure know how to love my kid and I’ve been told I give kind of awesome hugs, if you ever need one._

_Thank you for being bloody awesome and for not trying to give back the silly father you’ve been granted. Here’s to you and to the many memories I’ll gift you from now on. I hope your day is still great, despite the sad bits. But if it’s not, know it’s okay to not be okay. Even in your birthdays. I wouldn’t judge you. You’re my favourite broken condom._

_Love,_

_Dad._

Strike took photographs and, seeing it was practically midnight, sent them to Alexandra along a short text:  **‘Happy birthday. Of all the accidents I’ve suffered, you sure all the best. Dad xoxo’** He chuckled to himself, murmuring he was now a cheesy tit, to Robin, and then he noticed Robin was snoring softly against his shoulder, and smiled.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I haven't updated in a while any of my stories, but truth is the lack of reviews makes me think no one cares if I update this or not so I figure why lose my time grabbing the laptop and updating when I could be doing other stuff? I truly do enjoy writing and for me, I get the same joy even if I don't publish. The entire fic is written, I already had joy with it, publishing is only to share it if people like it.
> 
> Finally I've decided to put up this chapter, but I've decided I won't publish any other of this story unless I get 5 reviews, and that way I can filter and don't lose time updating stories that don't interest much in favour of updating more often those that do get petitions for more chapters. After all, a writer doesn't publish another book of a saga if the one before is not bought. This will go on until this story ends, if you get to see the end. This is not out of anger or anything, not really, but I think us fanfic writers need to have some pride, you know? I think we work very hard to create aditional content, and if no one cares we're equally happy writing it for ourselves and don't losing time putting it up online only so someone can steal the work (which happens very often) but we get 0 credit.


	21. The birthday girl

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SPECIAL THANK YOU AND ACKNOWLEDGMENTS TO: Nessa_Val, Kat, EllTorr99, GinnyW1981. I keep you in mind through every chapter and I love it when you love it. Big hugs!
> 
> The current priorities for updating are:  
> \- The cormorant and the robin – 8 comments in last chapter.  
> \- The daughter – 5 comments in last chapter.  
> \- Where we stand together – 4 comments in last chapter. Gets about 5,45 comments by chapter.  
> \- To be continued – 4 comments in last chapter. Gets about 2,04 comments by chapter.  
> \- I will light a fire – 4 comments in last chapter. Gets about 1,85 comments by chapter.
> 
> THESE STORIES WILL CONTINUE BEING UPDATED for now. At any point, one of them may move to the black list. All I demand for me to publish another chapter of a story is to get at least 6 comments after a new chapter. If this happens, a new episode will come. With this new order, I expect all these five stories will be fully published before the year ends. Therefore there'll be approximately two stories being updated daily until the year ends, or every couple days.
> 
> When will new stories be updated? I've got right now four stories waiting to come to AO. Where we stand together part 2 and I will light a fire part 2 are two of them, the other two are completely new and unrelated. If all goes well, they will arrive in January.
> 
> THANK YOU

While having breakfast on August 27 th , Robin texted Alexandra a birthday congrats and, a few minutes later, aside from her getting a thanks, Strike got an answer to his own from the night before. Strike chuckled as he read it;  **‘Thanks dad, sweetest thing, meant the world to me <3 also, if it serves of any consolation, I don’t have more dads to compare with, so you’ll always be the best one ;) Alex xoxo’**

“She’s got quite the sense of humour, doesn’t she?” asked Robin with a small smile. She looked sleepy still and her skin looked soft, the sun shun on her dishevelled hair, and they were having breakfast in bed all domestic. Strike felt a huge urge to kiss her.

“She’s my kid, what did you expect?” He replied smugly. Robin snorted.

“You went from scared dad who doesn’t want to hear a word about having children, to smug dad.”

“With the super kid I’ve gotten, is no wonder...” Strike shrugged. “Think about it, you’ve never wanted a boat, right?”

“Right.”

“But if you were gifted a huge yacht without having to do anything but have sex, wouldn’t you take it and be smug about it? Brag all over? She’s the one thing I can brag about.” Robin giggled.

“I see.”

Strike was already texting Alexandra again;  **‘Get ready kiddo; Robin and I will pick you up for a normal-dress code lunch at Lucy’s with Nick and Ilsa too (because if I had ever given you godparents, it would’ve been them). Lucy traditionally likes to consider birthdays sacred and always makes dinner for everyone, she made a cake and all. It’s going to be lunch because I made us reservations at a very top class restaurant, I invite. Just you and I, I figured we could use some father-daughter time? But if you have any other plans or just aren’t feeling like it today, just let me know and I will move everything to next weekend for you. It wouldn’t be a problem, whatever birthday girl wants. If you’re up for it, we’ll be there in two hours. Xoxo’**

‘ **OMG FOR REAL? so excited! so sweet of aunt Lucy, how would I say no? Besides, I’m your daughter... if there’s food, my assistance can’t even be questioned. Will be waiting all excited and skip breakfast so I can take good account of aunt’s cooking. A xoxo’** Strike laughed, showing Robin the text. She rolled eyes and smiled at his excitement.

“You’re indeed like a child with a new toy. Wait until she gets her period in your presence.” Strike’s smile vanished and he scowled as she laughed, going to the bathroom.

“Had to ruin it, didn’t you!” Robin laughed harder and he shook his head, indignant, but smiled. After typing a quick answer to Alexandra, he went to the family group, which included the Herberts because obviously. It had been like that since Joan and Ilsa’s mum were besties, and it hadn’t changed with the years.

‘ **Al’s in for today’s celebrations. Please be awesome, this day needs to be military perfect.’** He texted. Nick answered instantly.

‘ **But no pressure.’** Strike laughed.

Robin had to drive to Nick and Ilsa’s to get changed, so Strike waited as she got ready while eating a second breakfast with his friends. They gave him eyes for having slept with Robin two consecutive nights, not quite believing the friendship thing, but fortunately for Strike, Robin was ready soon and drove them to Alexandra’s new flat in Hackney. Robin had to run after Strike, who quickly wheeled himself with his strong arms, full of nervousness and excitement, and after flowers were bought, they personated at Alexandra’s doorstep. Strike took a minute to admire Robin. Despite the dress-code for lunch wasn’t super elegant, she looked wonderful in a sundress and with her make-up softly done, her hair loose.

“You look really pretty,” Strike commented blushing. Robin blushed too in response.

“You too,” Robin mumbled. Then she frowned upon realising she had just called him ‘really pretty’, but it was too late and Alexandra had opened the door. Robin grinned. “Happy birthday!” Strike and her chorused by accident.

“Thank you guys!” Alexandra smiled, hugging her dad.

“You look fantastic,” Strike complimented, giving her the bouquet of flowers. 

Alexandra was wearing tight dark jeans and a dark blue t-shirt with long, rolled-up sleeves and collarless t-shirt, the kind she usually enjoyed wearing, and a long, black cardigan. She always dressed more or less within the same style, with dark colours, preferably blues, greens and dark reds, never gum-pink. She usually wore nice shoes, not heels, and usually with a hipster style. She rarely wore patterns, preferring solid colours, she usually wore several bracelets of leather or cord and multiple, simple silver rings, and she never wore piercings or earrings, Strike thought she didn’t even have holes. Like Robin, she had a silver necklace she rarely took off, but next to Robin, it was still like the sun and the moon. Alexandra rarely wore make-up, but when she did, it was like now, soft and mostly in the lips and eye shadow more than anything else, to accentuate her lip colour and deepen her gaze. Her curls were usually let loose, and this time was no exception. She was wearing boots with a little thick heel and Strike realised she did try to look a bit more sophisticated than usual, with her nails, always properly trimmed, painted purple, while they were usually unpainted, and her clothes had a somewhat elegant style. Her eyes looked greener today too, and she smelled nice, while Strike didn’t think she usually wore perfume, or he would’ve noticed. He wouldn’t say she looked gothic, but she wasn’t the princess girl either.

“Thanks, Dad,” Alexandra smiled sweetly. “I’m going to find a vase for this, you can come inside if you wish.” She let the door open and rushed inside. Robin pushed Strike’s chair inside too, closing after her, and they saw themselves in a nice sitting-room with views to a park, some boxes still half-unpacked on the floor.

Like Strike, Alexandra avoided big amounts of decoration, but unlike her father, her flat did bring personality. There was a blanket thrown on the sofa next to a mystery novel, and beside a small TV, a small framed picture of toothless Alexandra grinning in her Taekwondo uniform with an orange belt, posing with her grandparents. Strike smiled at that and realised he had never seen his daughter as a little girl.

“How old were you here, six?” Strike pointed to the picture when Alexandra came back.

“Eight, took a long time to change teeth. In fact I still have a couple milk ones,” Alexandra shrugged.

“Oh yeah, we have good, strong teeth in the family,” Strike chuckled. “Nice place girl.”

“Yeah, it smells nice,” added Robin looking around.

“Thanks, I try to make it homey. So let’s go?” asked Alexandra. The flowers now were on a vase on the dining table. Strike nodded and they left to Bromley.

As they drove through Bromley, Robin caught a jam and Strike fell asleep, always extra-sleepy due to his pain medicines, and while they weren’t moving, Robin removed her jacket and moved to lift a little Strike’s head, that hung to the side, and putting the jacket making a pillow on his shoulder so he wouldn’t break his neck. His snores interrupted for a fraction moment, and then continued. Robin did it so naturally and without thinking that she didn’t realised it was weird until Alexandra giggled in the backseat.

“You two are such a couple,” Alexandra commented.

“No we’re not,” Robin replied blushing once more, her eyes fixed on the plaque of the car in front.

“For now,” said Alexandra.

Strike woke-up as they neared Bromley and straightened up thanking Robin for her jacket-pillow trying to pretend it wasn’t weird –although thoughtful- and shortly after, they were parking by Lucy’s magnolia tree. Alexandra pulled out the wheelchair, and Strike used his strong arms to manoeuvre himself onto it, and they got inside, being greeted by Greg and Lucy, who congratulated Alexandra.

Alexandra was almost moved to tears when they arrived to the garden and aside from Ted and Joan being there –surprise!- there were colourful balloons hanging from the trees, and even a big ‘Happy Birthday!’ hanging from the garden door.

“Oh my! This is so beautiful, thank you!” Alexandra grinned looking around. She was greeted with hugs by everyone, Nick and Ilsa being the only ones a bit late, having not arrived yet.

“Happy birthday cousin Al!” suddenly three boys had collided with Alexandra’s long legs and she looked down surprised at the three dark blonde heads.

“Hi guys, thank you!” Alexandra patted their heads and smiled soft.

“Are you our new cousin?” asked five-year-old Tristan, the youngest of the three, looking up at her with excited blue eyes.

“I am,” Alexandra answered as the three boys pulled apart and looked up at her with attentive eyes.

“How old are you?” asked the eldest, Louis, who was nine.

“I am nineteen,” Alexandra chuckled at their awing.

“Louis, Jackie, Staney, come help me in the kitchen!” Lucy yelled from the door. The three boys ran to her and Alexandra went to sit with her father at the table set in the garden with a paper tablecloth full of colourful balloons and disposable colourful glasses and white disposable cutlery and plates. There were golden napkins and Alexandra felt touched with all the obvious hard work put into the party.

“Woah, Aunt Lucy set the bar high,” Alexandra murmured to Strike.

“The good thing is that she’s the only one who has to confront the bar, she’s the birthday-boss since always,” Strike shrugged.

“Fancy a beer, Al?” Greg offered giving Strike a can of coke from the portable mini-fridge by the table.

“Actually, I don’t usually drink but alright, thanks,” Alexandra took the can and opened it, taking one long sip. Strike observed with a proud glance.

“So you like beer?” asked Strike.

“Beer, wine and whiskey. Vodka is an absolute no,” Alexandra sniggered. Strike laughed.

“Good then...” right in that moment, Nick and Ilsa came outside followed by Lucy and the little trio, carrying the food to the table. Nick and Ilsa hugged Alexandra congratulating her and they all started eating.

“So Al, how does it feel to be 19?” Nick smiled at her.

“Uh, I’m slightly closer to death,” Alexandra joked darkly, then laughed. “How’re the babies, Ilsa?”

“They’re good, we actually came a bit late because we went to the doc for a check-up, and they’re great, just chilling.”

“Yep, should’ve seen them squeezed together, partying,” added Nick chuckling.

“Any idea what to name them yet?” asked Lucy.

“I’m more of the thought that we’ll know when we see them,” said Ilsa. “So we’re just writing a list of random names for when the time comes. We’re going for uncommon but pretty names, and if possible, that don’t run between our friends and family, so there isn’t confusion later.”

“Yeah, Peter the fifth wouldn’t be very pleasing,” commented Nick. “It’s a shame, I wanted to name the boy Cormoran.” He joked teasingly. Strike snorted.

“Just don’t put him one of these modern names that are actually just stupid ways of writing all-time names. Like, James with two ‘m’ for no reason.” Strike commented, stuffing sausage inside his mouth.

“Alexandra,” Jack had stood between his uncle and Alexandra with a lollypop in his mouth. “If you’re Uncle Corm’s daughter, how come we’ve never seen you?” Alexandra’s eyebrows rose. “Is it like my classmate Ivan, who found out he had a brother his dad never told him about and then his parents divorced?” Alexandra choked on her beer.

“Jack!” Lucy looked sternly at him. “Don’t harass your cousin with those things... It’s not your business, Jack. Adult’s thing.”

“But mu-um!”

“That’s okay,” Alexandra intervened. “Alright, Jackie, let’s see...” Alexandra bit her tongue for a moment. “So what do you know about having kids?”

“Well, obviously,” Jack shrugged. “I’m eight, so I know it all. To have a kid, you need to be at least twenty-one, and then the boy’s penis gets inside the woman through another hole and then she gets big because a baby starts being made inside of her, and then after some months, the baby comes out. Mum says I’ll know more when I’m bigger, but...” he shrugged, ignoring the roars of laughing coming from Strike and Nick. 

“You’re thirty-six, both of you...” Ilsa murmured, despite her own snigger. Robin had gotten red trying not to laugh hard, just giggling against her mouth, and Lucy glared at them.

“I’m really good at math and I know if you’re nineteen today, it means you were born nineteen years ago, and that can’t be, because Uncle Corm would be seventeen, not twenty one,” continued Jack. “And then, Uncle Corm is an investigator, so if he had had a kid, he’d know.”

“Alright uhm...” Alexandra cleared her throat.

“You don’t have to pay him any attention honey, Jack...” Lucy gave him a stern look.

“No, it’s fine, he’s a kid, he’s curious,” Alexandra shrugged. “Thing is Jack, sometimes, in very, very exceptional cases, someone might have a kid at seventeen. I mean, is rare...” she didn’t want to undo whatever education he was being given, but Strike was laughing so hard now, that he had to cover his face with his hands. “You’re not helping dad...” Alexandra murmured. “So uh, my mum got big with me and then she birthed me and uh... well, because is so rare to have a kid so young, she didn’t know Uncle Corm was my dad, and he didn’t even know my mum had gotten big because she had moved to another city in that time. So I was just living with my mum’s family and then at some point, because Uncle Corm is such a good investigator, he found out and here I am!” Strike drank water to calm himself, all red, and Nick brushed the tears off his eyes. Jack nodded in understanding, and then looked at Strike in confusion.

“Uncle Corm, what’s so funny?” he asked innocently.

“Well...” Strike tried to look serious again. Robin took a deep breath to stop wishing to laugh. She didn’t find Jack’s story as funny as the men did, but seeing them laugh so hard and get so red and teary-eyed just made her laugh. “When you said a woman gets big, it’s not wrong, I mean, look at Ilsa, but you made me think of a blowfish and...” Strike said gesturing with his arms. Nick guffawed and Strike started laughing again. Ilsa snorted a laugh shaking her hand and Greg sniggered. Lucy rolled eyes but smiled, and Robin chortled.

“That’s exactly what I was thinking!” Nick added between laughter, as they laughed together like teenagers.

“Some people just stay in seventeen honey,” Ilsa looked apologetically at the confused Jack.

“Go play love,” Greg encouraged Jack, who nodded.

“But what’s a blowfish?” Jack asked.

“Let me!” Strike calmed himself and, still red, grabbed a permanent pen for the ones that were on the table and had been used to write the happy birthday message, and then took one of the balloons, a blue one, and drew two eyes. He was sniggering as he drew a smile on it, and Nick was laughing against Ilsa’s shoulder seeing his intentions. “That’s a blowfish.” Jack looked a bit confused but decided he better just go play with his brothers and left the adults to laugh it off.

“I must say,” Nick commented taking a deep breath. “Between the all explanations of pregnancy I’ve ever heard, that has to be the best, right after that girl in our comprehensive that at eighteen thought babies were made with a kiss and was horrified when we played spin the bottle.”

“Well he’s eight, what else can we tell him?” commented Greg. “Besides, they’ve got a five-year-old brother who’ll know anything we tell the elders, and who’s certainly not prepared.”

“Oh, fuck’s sakes, you’re not going to traumatise him with telling him the wonders of sex,” Strike opined. “Right Robin? You’re the psychologist.” Robin blushed.

“Well uh, my older brother Stephen found out at school at eleven or so, came running, all flipping, and told all of us, and Jon, who’s the youngest of us, couldn’t look at our parents’ faces for a week. In all fairness, he was like, three. But Martin was five and he just laughed it off.”

“What about you?” Strike asked teasingly. Robin blushed harder.

“I was a child and my mother made me swear I wouldn’t talk about it with my little brothers and grounded Stephen for a week, so I knew what not to do.” They laughed.

“Oh, I found out on my own. Caught my grandparents at six, cried, and they had to explain themselves. Turns out is very hard to lie when you’re nervous,” commented Alexandra. Strike grimaced. “Was also forbidden to talk about it in school.”

“That’ll teach you how to knock,” Strike murmured as Nick giggled. “Now that I think about it, have you had sex?” Robin choked on her drink and Alexandra blushed.

“Yes...” Strike frowned.

“Who? I wanna meet him,” said Strike. “You know, in case...” he shrugged suggestively. Alexandra’s eyes widened.

“No! Dad, you don’t have to worry about it, I can’t get pregnant just that easily.”

“I’ve heard that before, from your mother actually,” Strike raised his eyebrows and Alexandra patted his thigh.

“Dad, I’m gay,” said Alexandra. Strike looked as if he had been slapped. “Like... the gayest of the gays. Tried men, realised women do it better, so no worries, clean of dicks of a few years now.” She took a gulp of her beer, all self-confident. Strike gulped.

“A few years? When did...?”

“Dad you don’t want to know that deep about my sexual life, believe me. You don’t make questions if I ever get to work late with a lovebite on my neck, and I won’t make questions for what I may or may not hear in your attic.” Strike blushed.

“Deal,” he shook her hand and she snorted, looking at Robin.

“You’ll thank me later,” Alexandra commented. Robin blushed furiously.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The current priorities for updating are:  
> \- The cormorant and the robin – 8 comments in last chapter.  
> \- The daughter – 5 comments in last chapter.  
> \- Where we stand together – 4 comments in last chapter. Gets about 5,45 comments by chapter.  
> \- To be continued – 4 comments in last chapter. Gets about 2,04 comments by chapter.  
> \- I will light a fire – 4 comments in last chapter. Gets about 1,85 comments by chapter.
> 
> THESE STORIES WILL CONTINUE BEING UPDATED for now. At any point, one of them may move to the black list. All I demand for me to publish another chapter of a story is to get at least 6 comments after a new chapter. If this happens, a new episode will come. With this new order, I expect all these five stories will be fully published before the year ends. Therefore there'll be approximately two stories being updated daily until the year ends, or every couple days.
> 
> When will new stories be updated? I've got right now four stories waiting to come to AO. Where we stand together part 2 and I will light a fire part 2 are two of them, the other two are completely new and unrelated. If all goes well, they will arrive in January.
> 
> THANK YOU


	22. Time to connect

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Strike finds out being a Dad is funnier than he expected.

After lunch, Alexandra blew the candles, and gifts were brought in and opened while devouring the delicious cake; ‘A beginner’s guide to crime’ book from Strike, ‘London for youngsters’ book from Robin, drawings from the boys, a beautiful elegant new jacket from Nick and Ilsa, and a pretty silver-chain necklace with a little star between two musical notes hanging, from Greg and Lucy, that she immediately put on.

“In a couple years if you’re a good girl dad will buy you a car,” commented Strike as Alexandra looked all excited and happy at her gifts. Alexandra smiled big.

“Really?” Strike shrugged.

“If I have the money, sure.” Alexandra looked smug about it.

Ilsa excused herself to attend a work-related call and Strike relaxed observing Robin and Nick playing with the three boys, running around with the ball. Robin was laughing, her hair was shinning, and she was actually good with the ball. She looked the outmost beautiful. When they were tired, Nick and Robin sat again and Strike smiled at Robin, finding her even prettier if possible, with her sensible skin all red from the warmth. The day was indeed sunny.

Sometime later, Ilsa came back.

“So uh, I’ve got an early birthday present for you,” said Ilsa sitting down next to her husband and staring at Robin with a serious expression. “My secretary just called. We got the definite date for the trial against Matthew.”

“When?” Robin fixed her eyes on her, suddenly tense.

“Monday morning,” said Ilsa. “It may be several days but... could be just one.”

“Monday? But that’s so early, how are we going to have time to prepare...?” Robin got stressed quickly, but Ilsa patted her thigh as a ‘don’t worry’ gesture.

“It’s alright, everything’s been prepared for weeks, I like to leave things ready in advance. And we already talked about everything for it, you know your drill. You go, tell the truth as it is, and they will put the bastard between bars. Then we’ll finish up your divorce, will get a better deal once he’s in prison,” said Ilsa calmly.

“He’s not going to go to prison,” sighed Robin. “You said it yourself, to the eyes of the law this is just a school fight, and he just punched me, is not like he tried to kill me even. No, he’ll pay a fine and go home.”

“Hey, don’t get pessimistic, will you?” Ilsa frowned. “So what? He’ll have to stand in front of his family and admit what he’s done. He’ll be condemned, no matter the punishment, and that’ll be the stain on his record for life, next time he does the slightest thing, that’s an aggravator. And believe me, the hole in his bank-account and the restraining order will weight on him forever. I’d love to see the face he gets when he realises he can’t work in London any longer because he can’t come into the city. Didn’t you say he got a promotion? Well, goodbye promotion.” Robin shook her head and looked down. “Robin, don’t tell me you don’t want to go on with this...”

“I don’t see the point, Ilsa,” Robin shrugged. “What about what I have to do? I was ten years with him. Ten years in which he cheated, he abused and he fooled me, who gives me that back, uh? Who gives me the capacity of trusting and loving a man again, uh? And fine, now he’ll have to find a new house and a new city and he’ll lose money, but I’m not much better. I live in a guest room, I have no money for even half a flat rent, I lost my home for the past year and a half, and I’m in a city I would’ve never had the slightest interest on just because of him. Yes, now I’ll stay because I’ve made a life here that I like, but that doesn’t change the fact that my bank account has a hole, my heart has a hole, my trust has a hole, and he’s taken it all away. So he loses his job so what? He’ll find another, he’s excellent at what he does. He can go to Manchester, to Cambridge, to Edinburgh if he wants to, buy a new pretty house and start over. He’ll get some nice girlfriend, probably bloody Sarah Shadlock, marry her and have a ton of kids, all the dreams that we had. But I have to live with this forever. And not just that, but I’ll do the effort of standing up in court once again to say once again that a son of a bitch raised his hand at me, in front of God knows how many people, make my family go through that again, suffer the psychological strain of it again, and all so in the end the judge can say well, we’ll just make him pay a fine and all fixed. The way I see this, in the end he doesn’t lose that much compared to what I have to pay, and at least if he’d go to prison, my efforts would be a bit worth it, but if he’s not even going to do that, then why do I have to fuck myself further?” Ilsa sighed.

“Because you won’t forgive yourself if you don’t,” said Ilsa simply. Then shrugged. “Look, do what you want, I’m your friend and I’ll support you. But you have today to think about it so I have time to call the judge and retire the charges if that’s what you want. But if you do that, you should know your situation won’t change in slightest, but his won’t either and you’ll make his life a bit easier. Not only that, but the judge may see you like a liar.”

“Well, you can drop your charges, but I’m not dropping mine,” commented Strike calmly eating his third piece of cake. Alexandra looked at him incredulous that he was just eating while Robin was stressed. Robin glared at him in response.

“What do you mean you won’t drop yours if I do? Of course you will, you won’t leave me one foot in and one out.” Robin argued.

“Robin, with all due respect,” Strike sighed, leaving his cake on the table. “You know you mean the world to me, but if I can cause the most remote sting on an abuser like Matthew, I will damn do it, even if it’s just a slight punch, you know? Even if I have to do it alone. An abuser killed my mother, and an abuser could’ve killed you too. He could have killed you, do you realise? If you weren’t scandalously good at fighting, I’m pretty sure he would’ve killed you. I won’t let him live this down just like that and personally, I don’t think you can either. I agree with Ilsa that you won’t forgive yourself, you didn’t let Brockback go, why would you let Matthew go?”

“Oh you f...” Robin muttered, but Ilsa interrupted her putting her hand on her belly. Robin’s eyes widened. “They’re kicking!” Ilsa nodded, and pouted.

“Your future adoptive nieces are saying ‘Aunty, kick that bastard’s arse!’ ‘Do it for all the people whose partners kicked this arses!’” Ilsa made sort of a baby voice, giving her eyes. Robin rolled eyes.

“Fine.”

“Fine?” Strike smiled.

“Fine! Gosh, you two! You win, I’ll do it!” Robin couldn’t help but smile and shake her head as Strike and Ilsa cheered and high-fived.

Later at night Strike and Alexandra went together to an expensive restaurant with views to the river, Alexandra wheeling him into the nice building with big windows and great views, and they sat at the table Strike had booked days previously. Strike asked for a bottle of ‘the best champagne’, not having taken his meds in enough time to drink, and rose his cup to Alexandra.

“To my precious daughter, may the next year of your life bring more joy than the last,” Alexandra smiled and their cups touched before they drank.

“Thanks Dad, this was one awesome birthday,” said Alexandra looking at him all grateful.

“I’m glad. I have one more gift for you, I wanted to give it to you more privately,” said Strike searching in his pocket.

“So you chose a room full of strangers, I see,” teased Alexandra, making him snort. Then he pulled two bracelets with wooden beads. The beads were dark brown and the cord was a simple black one. One bracelet was bigger and with smaller beads than the other, that was smaller but the beads were slightly bigger.

“This is for you,” Strike gave her the smaller one. “And this is for me.” He took the bigger one, because his wrist was bigger, and put it on. He blushed and avoided looking at her. “I read on the internet about father and daughter matching bracelets, and well, they’re not silver like your aunt’s necklace, but I made them myself, since I had so much time free to spare. They’re made of Rudraksha wood, which is the one...”

“That Buddhists use for their malas,” Alexandra grinned putting on her bracelet. Strike nodded.

“I had a mala of 54 beads that was my mum’s, because she was Buddhist, and I wasn’t doing anything with it, so I broke it and divided it in these two... and yours has thirty-six beads, and mine eighteen, because it’s the age we had when we finally meet,” explained Strike adjusting his bracelet.

“Oh, Dad...” to Strike’s surprise, Alexandra got up, and leaning, hugged him tightly. Strike realised she was sobbing a little. “This is the best thing in the world. I will never take it off, ever.” 

Strike ended up enjoying a nice evening with his daughter, getting to know her more. He had decided to take it as if she was just a cool friend he happened to be related to, at least for starters, so it would be easier on him, so he sat and listened with true interest, making questions every now and then, as Alexandra told him about his childhood classes at the conservatory, her school performances, her relationship with her grandparents, her friends, her girls, her house and Southampton. He listened about how Oxford was lately, and about the books she read or the last movie she had seen, he learned her favourite colour was green and her Hogwarts house was Ravenclaw –a fact with which he wasn’t really surprised-, that she hated spiders and her favourite food was spinach tortellini with cheese sauce. On the other side, she asked about his childhood, his relationship to his relatives, Cornwall, Robin, the job, the Army, and then questions Strike wasn’t used to being asked like how he liked his tea, which one was his favourite insect, how many languages did he speak, what kind of music he enjoyed, or if he was more a dogs or a cats person. They made some jokes, had some laughs, teased each other a little and, after a few drinks and with stomach fulls, they ended up talking about romances as they sat on a bench by the Thames, enjoying the night while Strike smoke a fag careful of not blowing smoke on her. By then, she felt like an old mate and they were both in drunk camaraderie.

“...so the nutter goes and throws me an ashtray, and obviously, that was it, I mean, gotta kick her ass, right?” Strike was talking about Charlotte. Alexandra nodded, her Southampton accent coming thicker.

“Yeah obviously, what a bitch!” Alexandra rolled eyes. “You’re better off without her. I once slept with this crazy woman, Eleanora,” she spoke her name with certain mocking in her tone. “She’d leave notes after sex with poems about how beautiful it had been to be between my ‘silk walls’.” She laughed, and Strike laughed drunkenly with her.

“Oh, she got freakin’ Shakespeare with it, didn’t she?” Strike chuckled. “Called your clit a pearl, bet she did.” Alexandra laughed, blushing.

“She would’ve said your cock was like the velvety tongue of a cow,” mocked Alexandra, making him laugh.

“Y’know, Lucy would probably disapprove me talking dirty with my daughter.”

“Well she’s not here isn’t she?” Alexandra turned around in her seat. “AUNTY LUCY?! YOU THERE?!” Strike laughed.

“Tell you what, never mix food and sex,” said Strike.

“Who’d do that?” Alexandra frowned. Strike blushed. “Oh come on Dad! What a way of wasting perfectly eatable food! The best home for cream with always be the mouth, with no additives, thank you.” Alexandra giggled.

“The worst is when you think you’ve removed it all, but then you keep thinkin’ it’s there for days,” said Strike sniggering, while Alexandra made a disgusted face but giggled. “C’me on kid, bedtime.”

“For me?”

“No, for me! Believe me, once you pass the big two zero, every moment of bed time sounds like a blessing, better than a fuckin’ beer.”

“Blasphemy!” The two giggled drunkenly being stupid the rest of the way to Alexandra’s flat. 

Strike felt rejuvenated by her presence, as she used him like a skate running pushing his wheelchair through empty London streets and both yelling as she jumped to the horizontal bar in the back of the chair and the chair continued advancing quickly due to the impulse, both laughing and being stupid. Finally, they made it to her flat and Strike drank another beer while Alexandra changed into ‘something more comfortable’ and then Strike insisted he’d tell her a bed-time story, since he had never done that, and they both lied on her bed. However, half way through an invented story about a rat named ‘Edgar’ (by popular demand), Alexandra had fallen asleep against his chest and Strike, too, allowed himself to fall asleep, a hand entangled in his hair.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All right, so I wasn't planning on updating anytime soon despite my compromise, the schedule of updates I had made, and my devotion, because life got really hectic, as I'm finishing my studies right now, and I'm only months away from graduating, so I've been studying, I've got exams now, and I've been having many classworks to do and also internship for 4 months, plus add I have job(s), so it's been CHAOTIC.
> 
> But I was just checking in, since I haven't even seen my AoO profile in a while, and the reviews were just so pretty I HAD TO upload. I promise to reply to each comment one by one the minute I have time.
> 
> Thank you all. You're wonderful people and I hope you have a great day.


	23. Courtroom

[ _**A/N about the chapter: I had to go back to the UK laws of 2011, which are different than nowadays, for this chapter. I’m no expert in law, so there are failures here for sure, but have some imagination, it’s a fanfic, not Great Expectations ;)]** _

“It’s going to be okay,” murmured Strike hugging Robin close. They were waiting at the door of the courtroom. Strike had refused to give Matthew the satisfaction of seeing him on a wheelchair, so he was using his crutches, and upon seeing Robin so nervous in the inside, he had just hugged her. “I won’t ever let him touch you again. Never.”

“What about the other women?” Robin murmured against his hair.

“Don’t worry about them,” Strike replied pressing his lips against her forehead as he pulled apart. “He’s not that impressive to get many women.” He mocked with a small smile. She smiled small in return and nodded. “I’m proud of you, Robin. It takes a warrior to do this.”

“Always that tone of surprise,” Robin joked. Strike snorted and nodded.

“Hey, Robin,” Alexandra wanted to hug Robin too, which she did. “You’ve already won this girl, that rat now knows he can’t simply put his hands on you and expect you to let him. You’re so brave.”

“Thanks sweetie.”

The trial began and Ilsa made sure to be there for Robin, reassuring her sitting next to her. When Matthew came, both Strike and Robin realised he looked thinner, and like the month in prison had done little for his health. He’d grown a beard and had a swollen lip, like someone had punched him in prison or something. Robin knew for the UK Law, what had happened to her wasn’t more than common assault, and it was worthless to speak of psychological abuse. Matthew would only be judged for putting his hands on him and for verbal abuse, and that was it. She knew if he went to prison six months she should already be grateful.

“Mrs Cunliffe, did you hit your husband?” the defence lawyer asked, staring at Robin with wolf eyes. She clenched her teeth.

“It was self-defence...”

“But you hit him. You punched your husband on the nose, and you broke it, right?”

“Right but...”

“According to Mr Cunliffe, you had just been drinking wine, would you consider you hit him in a drunken mistake?”

“What? No, I wasn’t...”

“According to Mr Cunliffe, you do get drunk in one glass, it would affect your capacity to remember matters properly, can you swear he was really the first one to hit you, or maybe he was the one trying to defend himself?”

“He hit me first, I wasn’t drunk, I was just defending...”

“You had just found out he had cheated on you years previously...”

“Could you please stop interrupting me?”

“...do you think is it possible that you hadn’t quite forgiven him and you were just trying to revenge?”

“It wasn’t like that at all!”

“You have a violent record, didn’t you crash a taxi after kidnapping a woman with it? Your husband has never hit anyone, never even gotten in verbal fights...”

“Oh for fuck’s sakes...”

“I went there as a worried husband caring for her even when she had hit me, and this violent man almost killed me!” Matthew defended in his turn.

“He assaulted me in my office, when it was closed, when I was about to leave, and despite the numerous times I told him to leave...”

“Mr Strike, weren’t you a boxer and a soldier? Didn’t you almost kill a man, in your very own office, last year?”

Two hours into the trial, it was all said and done. Ilsa had battled and, Robin thought, had probably achieved what she wanted, with ingenious, smart ways of moving conversation as she pleased every time she had to talk with Matthew, and with questions pointed at Robin and Strike to show their best sides, and had even tried for the defence lawyer to not fry both Robin and Strike, but there she hadn’t had the same level of success. Matthew’s lawyer was a shark and Ilsa was an angry, pregnant T-Rex, but the other was still a shark.

Six months of prison without bail, a prohibition to enter Greater London under any excuse for the rest of his life, nor North Yorkshire, a fine of £15000 to Robin, and a prohibition to come any closer than five kilometres from Strike or Robin, that’s all they got. It was more than expected, but that didn’t keep Robin from running away, the second the judge announced they could leave. She didn’t listen to family’s pleads, didn’t stay for hugs or celebrations, didn’t even give Matthew a second glance. She got into her Land Rover and drove, because she felt she had to  _get out_ .

It wasn’t until she saw a road indication of Newbury’s ending, that she realised she had been driving in autopilot for the last sixty miles, and that she had been crying and living a panic attack while driving. Robin turned her phone off, and drove out of the M4 and into a small town or village called Hermitage, parking on a green land and crumbling in tears with her forehead on the steering wheel. When she felt she was struggling breathing, she got off the car and walked around, calming herself as her steps resonated in her ears. Matthew was behind bars again, and he would be until January, since he had already served the first of the six months. Ten years were thrown through the window.

Strike called Robin near dinner time, as she lied on a bench staring at the sky.

“Hi,” said Strike. “How’s the weather?” Robin chuckled dryly at his way of worrying about her well-being.

“Pretty stormy,” replied Robin, despite the fact that the sky was only somewhat cloudy.

“I see.” said Strike. “We’re having dinner at Nick and Ilsa’s, all of us, your family included. If you want company, you can come, but if you’d rather be alone, you’ve got the keys of my attic. Let me know and I’ll camp at Al’s.” Robin felt touched at his words, he was just that willing to go sleep somewhere else for her, despite his injuries, if that’s what she needed.

“Cormoran,” said Robin softly. “How do you do it? How do you move on after sixteen years with Charlotte?” Strike sighed.

“I found that the best way to remember someone for who they truly are is focusing on the bad they’ve done, because if they were really that good, it would out weight the bad and you wouldn’t even remember it,” said Strike. “And then, I realised that the best way to heal-up from someone that made me feel like such a piece of shit was surrounding myself with the things that made me feel like I was amazing. My job, my friends, you and ultimately, Alexandra.” 

“Why aren’t I in the friends group?”

“Oh, Robin...” he sounded so soft and grounding. “You’ll always be in a different category. You’re special.”

“How so?” asked Robin, feeling her heart pounding in her chest.

“How many times have you heard of me sharing my food, my bed, and my beer with anyone? How often do I pay expensive hotels for anyone?” Robin gulped and sat up with her phone pressed against her ear and a knot in her throat.

“Matthew made me feel like the luckiest woman in the world. I was in love with him,” murmured Robin after a moment of silence listening to each other’s breaths. “And I thought he was in love with me. We were the envy of Masham. We were the love story of all love stories,” a tear escaped Robin’s eye and her voice trembled. “We were going to be together forever. To get married and have children together. Buy a nice house in a nice neighbourhood of London and be happy ever after. And I thought I was happy and free, that I was a strong independent woman who went through so much and was fighting her own future for once, next to the man she loved. I thought I did things ‘cause I wanted them but... no. I was in London because _he_ wanted. I married him because _he_ proposed. Every time we travelled we did what _he_ wanted, where _he_ wanted, he was in control of our lives and I called that love,” another tear fell. “If we had had children, he would’ve named them, and he would’ve chosen their schools. Perhaps he would’ve made me think I was deciding, but no. I was Matthew’s girlfriend, Matthew’s fiancée, Matthew’s wife. Our friends were mostly Matthew’s. At his work dinners, I was Matthew’s. At home I was Matthew’s. I cleaned, I ironed, I cooked, I did the laundry. Even at court, I was Mrs Cunliffe. And he went and _cheated_. He found someone else. I gave him myself, all of myself, and he found someone else,” she was sobbing now. “Cormoran, Sarah Shadlock was in the courtroom today. Did you see the way she looked at him? Did you see the way he looked at her? Did you see the way she kept her hands around her belly? Cormoran... Cormoran... Sarah was pregnant at court today. Is not showing too much yet, but she was, and I’m sure it was Matthew’s, her boyfriend wasn’t anywhere to be seen, and he wasn’t at the wedding either. Matthew and her danced together at the wedding. They were so cute together at the wedding. The baby... Cormoran... Matthew’s the father. He’s got his whole life right there and I... I don’t even know who I am because if I am not Matthew’s, then what?” 

“Robin,” Strike’s voice sounded just so solid, and Robin focused on that, breathing to calm herself. “You’re Robin Venetia Ellacott. You’re not Batman’s Robin, you’re not Matthew’s Robin, you’re your own Robin. The one that kicks terrible men in the groin or breaks their noses, the one who confronts crime and resolves it, the fearless, kindest, Robin. You’re no one’s sidekick. And you’re everything you want to be. What do you want to be, Robin?”

“I...” Robin took a deep breath. “I want to be a detective.”

“You are. What else?” Robin’s stomach grumbled.

“I want to be someone who hasn’t spent the whole day in the middle of nowhere and hasn’t eaten all day.”

“Then come here because dinner is running cold, girl.”

“Cormoran I... I want to have the things that make me feel I’m amazing. And I don’t want to lose them but... I don’t want to depend on them. I want for us to exist together but... without depending on each other.”

“In that case,” Robin could hear Strike smile. “I promise I will eat your dinner if you don’t, because I’m a strong, independent, man.” Robin snorted a laugh.

“I’m coming, and if you put a tooth on my food, I will break it.”

As Robin sat on the driver’s seat, Strike’s laugh still resonating in her head, she found Sarah Shadlock between her contacts and opened up the text app.

‘ _ **Hi, Sarah. It’s Robin Ellacott. Congrats on the pregnancy. I know Matthew’s the father. I hope he loves you like he never loved me. I hope you can trust a man you know is a cheater. And I hope if your baby’s a boy he becomes the man his father could never be, and if it’s a girl, she learns to kick the groin of men like her father. I wish you all the best... because if at least you two are truly meant to be, then at least I was cheated on for someone meaningful and not just to whore around. Goodbye.’**_

 

 

 


	24. Who's the lucky girl?

“I’ve got a surprise for you!” Ilsa said excitedly during desert, looking at Robin, and off she went running upstairs despite her few extra pounds and the three children she was carrying with herself. 

Robin and Strike exchanged curious looks, and a couple minutes later, Ilsa was back at the table carrying what looked like a solid presentation folder, of the fancy ones they used at the law firm with an engraving of ‘Altman, Herbert, & Co.’ on the cover. She grinned and handed it to Robin, who moved her plate to make space on the table and opened the folder on it. It was a document with the distinctive of court.

“What is this?” asked Robin, not understanding much of the legal language.

“That, my dear, is a decree absolute, aka the official document that ends your marriage. It needs to be signed, but there it is.” Replied Ilsa full of excitement.

“But I thought it couldn’t be done until after today!” Robin’s eyes widened, passing the pages of the document. Ilsa sat back down next to her husband.

“That’s because it wasn’t set in stone that we’d win the case, and if we didn’t, then Matthew would be able to make demands and make the divorce the way he wanted,” explained Ilsa. “But I was pretty sure we’d win, so I did it anyway, with all your demands, everything the way you want it, and now Matthew has no option but to accept, if he wants to put a good face and not sink himself further. Once this is done, we just have to send it and get your name changed officially.”

“Oh my...” Robin grinned. “You wicked lawyer! It has all the way I wanted, the economical repartition, the house... everything. How did you even...? Where did you get the time from?”

“Oh, after you’ve written like a hundred of these, they write themselves,” Ilsa shrugged and smiled. “So you like it? Is it what you wanted?”

“It’s everything I wanted,” Robin got up and hugged her. “Thank you Ilsa, you’re the best lawyer, in the world, honestly.”

“That’s what friends are for. Now, feel like signing?” Ilsa offered her a pen.

“Damn right!” Robin had never felt such satisfaction upon signing a paper, and with that, it was over. She left the folder on the kitchen bar nearby so Ilsa would send it to Matthew’s lawyer and sat back down feeling a weight had left her chest.

“Well congrats, _Ms Ellacott_ ,” Strike offered his hand and she happily squeezed it with a small smile. “Are you taking until the last penny from him then?”

“Oh, no, I don’t want anything his,” Robin shrugged. “I’m only taking enough to make my own life, so I demanded the return of the exact same amount of money I’ve put into our common use to pay the house and others for the last year and a half. That’s a chunk big enough for me to start over and technically, it’s my money. If he can go and leave another woman pregnant while we’re about to get married, than I can take my money back.”

“So you noticed?” asked Linda with a grimace. “I was praying you hadn’t seen her.”

“It’s alright,” Robin nodded. “His loss anyway.”

“Well said,” Lucy winked at her. “You don’t want a child with his genes.”

“Yeah, I didn’t know if giving her congrats or condolences,” Robin joked. Strike’s words had made her feel much better about the whole thing. “Once the house is sold, I may be able to afford my own place.”

“Why don’t you move in with me?” suggested Alexandra. Robin looked at her surprised. “I mean...” Alexandra shrugged. “My new flat’s got an extra room I’m not using, and although I can afford it on my own, I am spending more than what I’m making, and it’d be nice to share expenses even if it was just a little bit. Not feel like I’m going to spend my entire will in two months.” She joked. “And I’m not going to be popping any kid anytime soon.” Ilsa sniggered.

“Really?” Robin was surprised. “Won’t it bother you to disrupt your independence by living with some oldie? In the end, every nineteen-year-old in the history of the world wants her own place.” She side smiled.

“Not at all, I’m not used to living alone and it feels weird. Every time something cracks I’m afraid an intruder came in,” Alexandra chuckled. “It’d be nice, besides, you’re a cool oldie, not like my dad.”

“Hey!” Strike complained in fake disgust. “I’m like a pirate, lacking half a leg, what’s cooler than that?” Alexandra snorted.

“So what do you say?” Alexandra looked at Robin.

“Then yeah, sure,” Robin grinned. “Thank you Al, you truly don’t mind?”

“Of course I don’t, silly.”

“Okay,” said Robin. “Well I’ll wait until I have some money from the divorce before moving out, though. So you have time to regret it.”

“I won’t.”

“How’s the house-hunting, by the way?” Lucy asked the Herberts. “Found any house big enough but not that expensive yet?”

“Actually, we’re not set in stone but we’re thinking of a house that’s just like, two houses from this one, in the same street,” commented Nick. “The prize is not much higher from the prize at which he bought his house, but it has an extra floor, five bedrooms, which is what we wanted, and even an extra bathroom from this one. The rooms are bigger too, and the garden.”

“Yeah, and we wouldn’t have to change our entire scheduling,” added Ilsa. “Same distances to work, near the schools we wanted, our families won’t have to learn a whole new way to get here...”

“Five bedrooms? What are you having, a bunch of sheep?” Strike frowned. He cringed just by thinking on the money that would cost.

“One bedroom for each kid, we don’t want them mixed-up together when they’re teenagers, thank you,” Nick snorted. “One for us, and one for guests. And while they’re babies we’ll just have three guest rooms.”

“How much time left until the babies arrive?” asked Michael, Robin’s father, gulping down a piece of the cake they had been enjoying.

“Full term will be around their godfather’s birthday in November,” Ilsa chuckled at Strike, who nodded in acknowledgement. “But it will most likely happen earlier, since they’re triplets and rarely make it that far. Things get crowdy in there.”

As they chit-chatted and ate, Strike leaned back on his chair looking for some relief for his stomach and chest –he had barely touched his plate- and put an arm around Robin, who was leaning against him. It felt surprisingly natural. Strike’s eyes drifted to Nick’s hand on Ilsa’s belly, his golden ring shining with the light, right next to Ilsa’s, as her hand covered his with the fingers intertwined, over their babies. Strike wondered then if that was the future waiting for him; a golden ring, a beautiful wife, and another child. He looked down at Robin’s strawberry-blonde hair covering his shoulder. Would she be in it for something like that, with him, or would their lives lead to something else?

“I better get going, I’ve got a date,” murmured Alexandra to his ear.

“A date?” Strike chuckled. “Who’s the lucky girl? Do I know her? Is she crazy?” Alexandra blushed at being the centre of attention now that Strike had called it.

“You’ve got a date?” Nick raised eyebrows. “Aw...”

“It’s just a movie date, nothing like... Is just some chick who works at a store I pass by often, she asked me out and I said yes,” Alexandra blushed harder, getting up. “Anyway, I should go, it was a pleasure to meet you, Mr and Mrs Ellacott...”

“Wait,” Strike grabbed her wrist softly. “I want names, in case I have to call the police.” Alexandra rolled eyes but smiled, excited even if she didn’t want to admit it, about having a concerned father.

“Lily Ford, like the car,” replied Alexandra. “Blonde. Slightly shorter than me, brown eyes. She’s got this thick London accent.”

“Is she your age?” Strike looked at her.

“I don’t know,” Alexandra shrugged. “I told you I barely know her. She looks about my age, I suppose. Does that matter? I thought rapists and murderers came in all ages.”

“Well, I don’t want some thirty-year-old woman abusing my little girl,” Strike said it without thinking, and then blushed. “I mean, do you know where to kick a woman? The groin won’t do!”

“The boobs will. Dad, don’t worry, not my first rodeo. And I’ve got a rape alarm, so no problem.”

“Where will you be?” Alexandra sighed impatiently.

“Prince Charles Cinema, Leicester. May I go now?”

“Yes, will you call me in the morning? If you don’t, I’ll go find you myself,” Strike raised eyebrows. “I mean it.”

“I know, I will call you in the morning. But just as a heads up, I hope to get things going tonight and in that case, I may get up really late.”

“You have a job to go back to.”

“May I...?”

“No,” Strike gave her stern eyes. “You job is important and we need you in the office. Hey, don’t give me that face, I’ve had my one-night-stands too and they never interfered with my ability to be on time to work. I expect you at half-past nine at the very last.”

“Ten.”

“No deal.”

“Fine...” Alexandra puffed. “I’ll have my revenge you know?”

“Don’t doubt it. Be careful, love you.”

“Aw, did you just say you love me?” Alexandra grinned teasingly.

“And I might regret it, go, you bacteria!” Strike rolled eyes as Alexandra gave him a quick kiss on the cheek and waved.

“Bye, see you, goodnight!”

“Good luck!” Ilsa shouted as Alexandra rushed outside. She gave Strike teasing eyes. “Good job, daddy. Who would’ve thought you can actually be a natural at this?”

“I’m a natural at caring for younger sidekicks, like this one,” he pointed at Lucy, who rolled eyes.

“Yeah, like you did that much.” Lucy side-smiled.

“Alexandra is an easy girl. She practically grows herself,” Strike shrugged.

“Well congrats Cormoran,” Michael chuckled at him. “Not every man would just be so open to fatherhood if a kid just popped up saying she’s yours.”

“No, you see, I’m not seeing this as fatherhood. I’m more like the cool uncle,” said Strike. “She’s nineteen, I just look over her shoulder. A bit like having a dog, but I don’t need to take her out for a walk.” Nick snorted a laugh. “But I mean it, what do I have to do for her, uh? She’s the nineteen-year-old everyone would want, she can take care of herself, she knows to carry around rape alarms, she admires me, she chose, willingly, to work and study at once, she’s responsible, she’s smart... she’s all grown, I don’t even need to lend her money. She’s like a well-educated dog.”

“You’re too confident,” commented Greg, his arm over Lucy’s shoulders. “You don’t know what you’ve unpacked there.”

“What do you mean?” Strike frowned.

“Well, like dogs, you don’t know anything about her baggage. You’ve known her for a month, for all you know she could be a serial killer, a drug addict, or who knows. I’m just saying, as parents of three Lucy and I still get surprised every now and then, it happens. You make them but then they’re whole persons themselves, and you don’t know what they came with. Some come with innocent things such as dyslexia, others come with true weights.”

“That’s true,” Linda nodded.

“Hey what have I bothered with?” Robin teased mockingly.

“It’s not necessary things that bother darling, is just, the truth, you give birth to someone but they’re a whole person, not fifty percent your partner and the rest yourself. There are plenty of things one doesn’t expect like... dunno, for example when Jon slept-walked when he was little, it was super scary to wake up one night for a pee and see him standing at the stairs with a fork in his hand like the terror movies,” Linda commented.

“Oh right,” Robin snorted a laugh. “I recall that.”

“Yeah, or when you had that invisible friend we ended up thinking was a ghost,” Michael added. Strike snorted.

“OH REALLY?” Strike looked at Robin, who blushed. “You didn’t put medium in your curriculum.” Nick laughed.

“Oh come on I bet you have worst embarrassing habits,” Robin replied teasingly. “Smoking behind your mother’s back maybe? No, I know it, you’ve got the face of someone who definitely slept-talked. Or you sucked your thumb until you were sixteen.”

“I never even sucked my thumb, come on,” Strike shrugged. “No, I was a very normal child. Definitely none of that, I didn’t even smoke until I was in the army.”

“Well normal is a relative concept...” Lucy teased.

“What do you mean?” Strike looked at his sister.

“You don’t remember? Hello, speaking in Latin in primary?” Lucy sniggered. “Or my personal favourite, going as Sherlock Holmes for three consecutive Halloween parties until you grow so much there was no way of fitting it anymore. He would take his little round loupe everywhere.” As the others laughed, Strike blushed hard.

“Alright, I uh, will keep my eyes on Al.” He murmured.

 

 

 


	25. Robin's birthday

Robin’s birthday in October came after a week living with Alexandra in her flat, at the same time that Nick and Ilsa finished moving to their new house, not so different from the one they already had, but bigger. Their babies would be arriving anytime soon now, and Ilsa was feeling enormous and tired, so it was good to have finished moving on time. On the rainy morning of Robin’s birthday, Strike, now more recovered and able to walk with a cane, had planned to surprise her at her flat and spend the Sunday with her. They had been so busy at the office Robin hadn’t been able to go up to Masham for her birthday like she wanted, nor have her family come over, so Strike planned to compensate her.

He woke up and got out of bed with a bit less difficulty than he usually felt, the long scar in the middle of his chest evident despite his dark mane of body hair, his body skinnier than he been since, probably, the time right after losing his leg. Eating had become somewhat easier, but it still proved difficult, and the trash food he would usually eat was no longer tolerated. Instead, he resigned to Nick’s healthy diet based mostly on liquids, which proved easier to handle. They had had to remove a small chunk of his stomach on the surgery, but since it was a muscle, Strike hoped to be able to eat as much as always once he was more recovered.

Strike shaved in front of the mirror he kept in the kitchen, and after massaging his stump with some pomade and checking the bullet wound and scar on his thigh, he put on his leg and clothes on, took the bouquet of flowers he had previously bought, and, straightening his shirt, marched to the street, gift bag hung from his free arm. With a free hand, he balanced his weight on a cane Alexandra had gotten him, and once in the street, on the way to Hackney, he bought some sweets for breakfast.

Strike was knocking on the flat door shortly afterwards, and when Alexandra opened the door with a face of ‘I’m going to kill you’, he knew nine on the morning on a Sunday was perhaps too early.

“What are you doing here?” Alexandra asked in her habitual morning moodiness, amusing for Strike.

“It’s Robin’s birthday!” said Strike cheerfully. Alexandra groaned and moved aside. “Good morning Lexie, I brought nice breakfast.” He said passing beside her, kissing her cheek. 

Strike had started using with her new nicknames that were only used by him, like ‘Lexa’, ‘Lexie’, ‘Lex’, or simply, ‘Monkey’. The therapist they had been visiting due to Robin’s recommendation commented that was a sign he was warmer to fatherhood than before. They had been doing great, but Robin had once suggested to go to some group meetings she had found out, in which you met with several other people who had just found out about grown children they didn’t know they had, and they all shared their thoughts and experiences in presence of a family therapist. Neither Strike or Alexandra had liked the idea at first, but they made an effort because they thought it’d only be good for them, since Strike was dealing with something he never even dreamed of, and Alexandra had never had a parent, so the changes were drastic for both. 

So far, in the weeks they had been going, enormous progress had happened, more in a personal way, as in Alexandra felt more comfortable around him and felt him more as a father, and same happened to Strike. They followed all recommendations; doing more things together, getting to know each other, having an activity once a week at least that was only for them both, and that was sometimes simply walking around the park, other times a coffee, and more frequently, they went together to the sports centre they had both become members of, and relax in the pool, chatting away. The meetings had also provided a group of parents and children in the same situation as they were, more or less, and they had both made some friends.

“Thanks dad...” murmured Alexandra holding back a yawn as she closed the door. “She’s in the shower though. Early bird.” Strike sniggered at the double meaning and went to the kitchen, where Alexandra started preparing tea.

“Slept well?” asked Strike.

“Yeah, well...” Alexandra shrugged, putting the mugs on the table at which Strike had sat. “I’ve been having some weird dreams lately. Robin says I need to stop watching TV before bed.”

“What kind of dreams?” asked Strike with curiosity as he nibbled a muffin of the ones he had bought.

“Very realistic ones,” said Alexandra. “As if I woke up surrounded by weird animals like stuffed animals, but alive. But they’re just dreams, dunno.” Strike raised an eyebrow.

“You gotta stop doin’ drugs,” joked Strike with his mouth full of muffin. Alexandra snorted and sat next to him, grabbing another muffin.

“How’re you? Breathing better?” asked Alexandra then.

“Yes, all much better.”

“Al, did I hear the door? Who wa...? Oh, shit!” Robin had appeared for a moment and ran away. Strike blushed, he had gotten to see her for a moment, in the short second until she had noticed him, and the image was printed in his brain; her hair damp up in a towel with some locks falling and framing her face, blushed from the warm water, and her nude body wrapped up in a bath robe of a dark blue colour, loose just enough to show a freckled cleavage.

“She lives with a lesbian,” murmured Strike. “Yet she’s comfortable with you but not with me, like that.” Alexandra chuckled.

“I’m not sexually attracted to her, as gorgeous as she is. And I’m a woman. She’s got nothing I don’t touch daily.”

“I’m not sexually attracted to her either,” argued Strike. Alexandra gave him and incredulous look. 

“That’s as true as our Muslim heritage.”

“What Muslim heritage?”

“Exactly.”

Finally Robin appeared fully dressed, blushed and drying her long, darkened hair, with a towel.

“Morning,” said Robin cheerfully. “What are you doing here? Did a case come up?”

“No,” Strike offered her a muffin. “Happy birthday.” Robin smiled.

“Oh, thanks. What a sweet gesture.”

“I better get dressed too. You look lovely Robs.” Commented Alexandra, who had already congratulated her when they got up, as she stood up to leave the kitchen. Strike raised eyebrows.

“Robs?” he inquired. Robin smiled sitting with him.

“Yeah, we’ve gotten really close, as you can expect, living together. I sometimes call her Dree.” Strike frowned.

“You two are weird.”

“Sounds familiar?” teased Robin. “She’s lovely, your kid. One of my best roomies for sure. Better than any I’ve ever had in St. Andrews.”

“I still can’t believe you and Prince William were in the same University at the same time for the year you were there,” commented Strike. Robin snorted.

“Steve, Cormoran. We called him Steve.” Strike laughed.

“Come on, I’ve got plans for you, eat and let’s go. And here, put your flowers in a vase or something.”

“Flowers?” Robin looked at them with wide eyes and blushed, touched. “Woah... thank you!”

Robin followed Strike into the street full of curiosity, after having bid farewell to Alexandra. Strike had only indicated her to wear comfortable clothes, and said they were going to the countryside. Robin had changed into something less city like and got in front of the steering wheel full of curiosity. They drove all the way to Forest Row, an area of thick forest and narrow roads, stopping for lunch on the way there, and following Strike’s indications, they finally reached what looked like a small building, and parked in the parking lot.

“What is this?” Robin asked looking around the tall trees. “What are we doing here?”

“I have signed you up for a rally competition for aficionados,” said Strike smugly, grinning at Robin’s dropping jaw.

“You’re not serious.”

“I am,” Strike insisted. “Since it’s not professional you don’t win anything but a joke award cup, and you have to pay to participate, but I signed you up and spoke to the guys who manage it and you’ll get to drive during three hours, three different competition rally cars, and in the end, when you’ve warmed up, you can chose the car you want and there’ll be a small competition. And you will always have a professional co-pilot to assist you. It’ll be fun!”

“You’re kidding!” Robin looked at him in disbelief. Strike gestured for her to follow him and they went into the small building. 

“Hello, is Ray around?” asked Strike to who looked to be a secretary.

“Hi Mr Strike, sure, he’s waiting for you in the office.” As they walked into the building, Robin observed that the walls were covered with rally photographs and her heart started drumming in excitement as she started to believe him.

“Ray!” Strike entered a small office that didn’t look too serious, with pictures of cars covering the walls and a bunch of what Robin recognised as rally awards on the shelves.

“Cormoran!” a man about as old as Strike, with brown eyes and short brown hair sniggered rushing to hug Strike. He was almost as broad as Strike and fitter, and as his arms wrapped around Strike, Robin saw he had a wedding band in a finger. “How are you mate?”

“Great! This is my friend Robin. Robin, this is an old friend and former SIB, now retired rally driver Ray Simmons.” Strike moved aside so they could shake hands.

“Hi,” Robin smiled politely at the man.

“Hello, so you’re Ms Alonso, uh?” Ray chuckled. “Cormoran told me you’re an incredible driver, and knowing how terrible he considers most drivers to be, you must be truly badass at the wheel.”

“She is, you need to see how she drives,” said Strike excitedly. Robin blushed, shy.

“I... like driving,” said Robin shyly. Ray laughed.

“I like driving too. This is my driving academy, actually, although is just a meeting point and administrative headquarters, we’re usually down in the circuit. Since they’re normal roads, we only drive on Sundays, when the council hall grants us permission and our standard reserved circuit is closed to the public so we can use it safely,” explained Ray. “So, are you ready to drive?”

“I guess,” Robin smiled nervously.

“Let’s gear-up then, safety first!”

They entered another room and Ray gave her a protective rally suit, helmet, gloves and boots. He also took ones for himself and they entered the changing rooms, one for each gender, to change. Strike waited outside and was quick to snap a picture of Robin the minute she came out of the changing room.

“You look elegant,” joked Strike. Robin rolled eyes and smiled.

“I can’t believe you did this.” She said.

“Is your marriage-cancellation present,” Strike replied as they walked down the corridor and to the garage, where a blue van was waiting. Out of it came another man and Strike and him hugged too.

“This is Kevin, my brother,” said Ray. Kevin looked a bit older than Ray. “He will be with Cormoran driving behind us for assistance and safety, in case anything happens. We will communicate using the microphones of the helmet.”

“Nice to meet you Robin, heard so much about you,” Kevin had a deep, strong voice, and glasses, and his hand felt enormous as it shook Robin’s. She smiled back.

“Thanks for all of this guys,” said Robin. “But are you sure? I’m no professional. I could kill one of your fancy rally cars.” Ray and Kevin laughed.

“That’s what they are for, Robin, to be used and knackered!” replied Kevin enthusiastically. “Let’s get in the van and go to the circuit. Diana is waiting.”

“Who’s Diana?” asked Robin getting into the van.

“My wife,” said Ray as they sat down. “She’ll be following your car more closely, she’s an excellent rally driver too. She’s also one of the teachers here, along with Kevin and I. It’s safer if we have an experienced driver like her following us at our speed, which Kevin and Cormoran won’t be able to reach, just in case. We take safety very seriously, as you can see.”

“Has anything ever happened?” asked Robin with a concerned frown as Kevin drove them out of the garage and back into the road.

“No, and we’d like to keep it that way,” answered Kevin.

“So how do you and Cormoran... from the SIB?” asked Robin with curiosity. Strike had never told her he knew rally pilots.

“I was a pilot as a teenager,” said Ray. “Kevin was in the SIB with Cormoran from the start. Then I joined in, later and for only a few years. Kevin dropped out a few years before Cormoran and I did it a bit later to join my then girlfriend here, she had done rally all her life and after wining some awards, she founded this place. The office is actually hers, most of those awards are hers. We just use it as a meeting point,” explained Ray, sitting beside Cormoran in the backseat, while Robin was next to Kevin. “She had retired from competition and I went back to it for a couple years while working here too, and a few years into the business, I retired to focus on the academy. It’s usually just the two of us, but sometimes, when we hold competitions like today or have too many students, we call Kevin for an extra pair of hands. He was always an incredible driver.”

“Goes in the family,” added Strike. “Kevin used to be my favourite driver in the army. I lost touch with them for a few years until a few months ago, and when I heard they had this business, I knew I had to take you here.”

“Woah...” Robin turned in her seat, grinning happily. “Thanks, Cormoran! I love this!”

“And you haven’t seen anything yet. Happy birthday, girl!” Kevin was cheerful as he pointed at their destination, a circuit that suddenly appeared into view, marked by the presence of several parked beauties, private security officers, and a stunning blonde woman all geared-up for driving.

“Happy birthday Robin!” shouted who could only be Diana as they got out of the van. “Pick the one you want and let’s go!” she added enthusiastically, pointing at the cars. Robin’s eyes widened, her jaw dropping. Those were actual professional cars.

Robin drove for two and a half hours, each time she got out of one car and into the other looking more and more excited and tireless, and Strike was happy to just follow her around in the other car. The circuit they had prepared was very long, taking a full hour to complete at full speed, going between the forest and even through the city, and it served as warm-up, because after two and a half hours the other students came and the competition started. Even though Robin had barely driven like that in her entire life, she came second in the competition and she was given a small medal with the name of the academy and twenty pounds –courtesy of Strike and pretending it was part of the normal deal- before they had to go back to London. Robin was speechless, but smiled the whole way back, just repeating the word ‘incredible’ time after time, for Strike’s amusement.

 


	26. The phantom of the opera

Back in Alexandra’s flat, Robin wasted two seconds before going in an excited ramble about how amazing, how wonderful, how dreamy and how unbelievable it had been. She had had so much joy, she even hugged Strike on impulse, and Strike just laughed with her excitement. She quickly declared it the best birthday ever, and Alexandra looked pleased and happy for her. She had helped Strike sort everything out for the day.

“You don’t really think this was all, right?” commented Strike sitting next to Robin on the sofa as she sat there with eyes bright and the shadow of laughter in her post-ecstasy state. She turned to look at him with bright eyes.

“Isn’t it?” Strike searched in his jacket pocket and pulled out two tickets for the Phantom of the Opera musical in West End theatre. Robin’s eyes sparkled.

“How did you know I wanted to see it?” asked Robin in a whisper, amazed.

“I guessed from the squeal you emitted when we passed a bus with the publicity of it several weeks ago,” Strike shrugged. “So... wanna go?” Robin nodded.

“Oh, Cormoran,” she smiled. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you.” Strike laughed. She blushed realising what she had said.

“Believe me, I wonder the same thing the other way around, all the time,” murmured Strike, his ears red and hot.

“Okay lovebirds, go, you’re making me want to vomit,” Alexandra chuckled. The two blushed and Robin rushed to change. Strike had a shadow of a smile as he looked at the tickets. Alexandra, sitting on an armchair by his side, raised eyebrows. “You truly do love her, don’t you?” she murmured. Strike shrugged.

“I think I might...” Strike sighed, looking at her. The realisation had hit him as he observed her happiness while driving, and he had thought that all sweaty, blushed and childishly excited, she was as perfect as all elegant in her blouse and skirt, all serious and professional, at work. He had thought she was the most perfect person in the world, the most wonderful company, and his heart had skipped a beat. “Shit, Lex...” Strike’s eyebrows moved into a concerned expression. “What am I gonna do? If I tell her... she’ll kick my butt. I’m not all that she deserves, I’m not. And if I don’t tell her... I’ll have to sit and see her go with someone else. I’ve been with a bunch of women, beautiful ones like Charlotte, and never felt any less than anyone else but with Robin... she truly matters. She deserves the best, and only the best.”

“Dad...” Alexandra sat next to him and looked at him in the eye. “Haven’t you heard stories like Beauty and the Beast? And many others! Is not about what someone’s outside. It’s not about your age, your scars, or anything else... it’s what’s inside. And I know she feels for you too. I know what she sees is far beyond your asymmetrical nose and pubic-like hair... She looks at you and she sees kindness, brains, skills, talent... she sees a heart of gold, loyalty, and someone who sees her and loves her for who she is, and not who they want her to be. Someone who truly values her without changing a thing. It’s what I see in you too, and I know it’s what your friends see too. You’re special, and you’re perfect for her, and she’s perfect for you, trust me. So go, get changed, your suit is in my bedroom, and try. Try because otherwise, you will regret it for the rest of your life.”

When Strike changed, he came out and Alexandra fixed his tie. Then, suddenly, Robin came back and Strike felt his stomach in his throat. There she was, gorgeous, and standing with a shy smile, wearing the green dress.

Time later, as Strike and Robin sat side by side in the red seats of the West End Theatre and ‘All I ask of you’ sounded, Strike found himself being so content he never wanted for the play to end. He didn’t usually enjoy musicals and he wasn’t a theatre lover, but this was nice. And he had to admit he was looking at Robin, who stared at the actors all emotional, more than he was looking at the play. It was obvious she was loving it and truly enjoying it.

‘ _Let me be your shelter_  
Let me be your light  
You're safe, no one will find you  
Your fears are far behind you’

Strike looked at Robin intently, his heart drumming in his chest. She had tears in her cheeks and her mouth moved with the lyrics, her eyes fixed on the couple on stage. Of course she was a romantic, hadn’t she been all excited about the story of Matthew going on one knee in front of the statue of Eros? She lived for these cheesy things. Strike, however, found so much meaning in the words, he couldn’t stop looking at her. Suddenly, Robin looked at her and smiled, their eyes locking as she mouthed the next words.

‘ _All I want is freedom_  
A world with no more night  
And you, always beside me  
To hold me and to hide me’

Absentmindedly, Strike nodded and they held hands over the seat’s arm between them, squeezing gently. Strike smiled as their eyes locked. He felt this, and perhaps all the others, was the Kairos moment, but that no Kairos moment was more supreme than this one. Mentally, he thanked the damn Phantom and sentimental West End musicals.

‘ _Then say you'll share with me_  
One love, one lifetime  
Let me lead you from your solitude  
Say you need me with you here, beside you  
Anywhere you go, let me go too  
Christine, that's all I ask of you’

Robin no longer mouthed the lyrics, but their faces were unconsciously attracting each other like magnets, helplessly. Strike’s dark-green eyes sank into Robin’s light blue-gray ones, and the rest of the world vanished.

‘ _Say you'll share with me_  
One love, one lifetime  
Say the word and I will follow you  
Share each day with me  
Each night, each morning  
Say you love me  
You know I do  
Love me—that's all I ask of you’

And then, softly, their eyes closed and their lips met, their hands squeezed over the arm of the seat, and their lips soft and warm, moving smoothly as if they had been born for it. Strike felt her smile against the kiss and he smiled too, not daring to explore with his tongue but enjoying the timid, gentle, kiss, without rushing it. Robin’s free hand got entangled in his curls, and Strike’s free one found her cheek, stroking it gently. When they finally separated, it felt as if the rest of the world stopped existing, and they just stared with soft smiled, still touching each other, until slowly, Robin grabbed his hand between both of hers and set it on her lap, looking at the play again. Strike chuckled, kissed her temple, and looked at the play too. When he felt her cheek against his shoulder, he grinned like the happiest man alive.

Hours later, they left the Tattershall Castle ship-pub after a romantic dinner full of hand-holding and small kisses, and walked down the street holding hands and smiling like two fools in love, until Robin detected his limping and forced him to go sit on a bench at Whitehall Gardens by the Thames. She had already stolen his jacket and as she snuggled into Strike’s arms and they chilled sitting there, in front of the statue of Henry Bartle Frere, Strike figured he didn’t mind sitting down at all. They didn’t speak, they just snuggled in silence for a long while.

“So...” Robin interrupted the silence after a while, with a cheerful giggle. Strike and she locked eyes. “Do you want to... give us a try? Call this date one, perhaps?” Strike pursed his lips and then nodded. She beamed.

“Are you sure, though? I mean,” Strike shrugged, his arm around her. “I’m an old, grumpy ogre. And you’ve just divorced. Is this what you want right now?”

“Of course you put me first,” Robin rolled eyes with a chuckle and Strike side-smiled apologetically. She caressed his cheek. “I don’t think there has been any love left for Matthew in quite a while. Not in the way it once was, at least. I’m not saying I’m suddenly going to be all in love with you or anything... but I do feel this could go somewhere. And I think it would be a mistake not to at least try.”

“What if it goes badly?” asked Strike with a light frown. “What if it gets so bad we can’t even work together anymore? What if we lose it all?” Robin shrugged sadly.

“In any case, there’s no going back now, isn’t it? It’s too late,” said Robin. “But what if it works? What if we’re with who we’re supposed to be? What if being assigned to your office was meant to be, so we could find each other?” Strike kissed her slowly.

“You make me so happy, Robin,” he recognised, their lips brushing with his words, and his cheeks blushing hard. “I won’t let this go down the drain. I won’t lose you. I don’t care the effort it takes.”

“But Cormoran,” Robin smiled against his lips, caressing his cheek as their eyes stared into each others’. “When have we had any trouble getting along? We’re partners, we’ve always been. We’ve been growing a business together like our child, and we’ve been making decisions together and making things work, together, for almost two years now. The only way things change, really, is that now we have something more to keep us entertained during long surveillances.” She commented with a wicked expression, making him chuckle.

“Always so impressive, Ellacott.”

“Always so impressionable, Strike.” Smiling, their lips pressed together once more and this time, it took a way longer time before any of them felt like pulling apart.

That night they wound up in Strike’s attic and, as their tongues entangled in passionate making-out and Strike’s rough but gentle hands caressed her breasts in all the right ways, Robin impaled herself with his rod, slowly making love and getting accustomed to a size she had never had, but moaning into his mouth. They abandoned themselves to passion, he, gentle, careful and loving, and she, burning, addictive and confident despite her zero experience outside Matthew, enjoying the act more than she had in her whole life, and in the end, they lied satisfied, entangled in each other, her cheek on his sweaty chest, a hand over the scar in the middle of his chest, finding comfort in his drumming heart.

The morning after, the new couple walked together in the bliss proper of new couples, overly touchy and smiley, forgetting the rest of the world and focused in each other. Strike felt like a teenager, but happier than he had ever been, and Robin felt like life finally smiled big at her once more. It was so weird to see this new side of him; cheesy, romantic, open... but at the same time, as her hand fit perfectly inside his much bigger one, it felt just right. She looked at him, cheerful and seemingly walking lighter than she had ever seen him, his eyes bright and his smile almost permanent, and she knew they made the right choice.

Robin’s dress was carefully folded inside a plastic bag Strike carried, and she was wearing an enormous sweater and enormous jeans, both rolled so her hands and feet could come out, and a belt making sure her trousers didn’t fall, but Strike thought she still looked beautiful, and he had timidly let her know, blushing, as they left his attic. That was new too, Strike being shy and blushing often, and Robin found it adorable.

As she laughed at some dirty joke he had made, she opened the door of her flat, his lips finding her neck and making her laugh more, and his arms wrapping around her hips.

“We’re gonna fall!” Robin giggled. But Strike’s lips pressed insistently against the crook of her freckled neck, her flowered scent filling his nostrils and her strawberry-blonde hair tickling his nose.

“I’ll catch you,” murmured Strike closing his eyes and hugging her tighter. “I’ll always catch you.” Robin couldn’t help smiling at his words, her arms over his, and enjoying his embrace.

The sweet moment was interrupted by a yell and they pulled apart, eyes widening in panic.

“Lexie?” roared Strike pulling apart and walking in front of Robin, his eyes fixed in the entry of the small corridor that opened on the other side of the sitting room. Suddenly Alexandra came out of the corridor, dishevelled in her pyjamas and panicked.

“Get out!” yelled Alexandra. “Run!”

“Why?” Robin asked, frowning. “Is someone in there?”

“Not anymore,” Strike grabbed his cane like an axe, stepping inside. Robin followed and Alexandra followed reluctantly, agitated.

“There!” Alexandra pointed. “The dwarf, he ran under my bed! He tried to knife me, I swear!” Strike frowned and went inside her bedroom. There was nothing. Strike turned around to look at Alexandra, who pointed to the bed. Strike’s frown hardened as he looked under the bed and saw nothing.

“Lex, love,” Strike said gently. “There’s nothing in here. You must’ve been dreaming.”

“I wasn’t dreaming,” argued Alexandra, stubborn like any Strike. “I punched him and ran! He had a knife to my throat when I woke up!” Robin had gone to her bedroom and came back.

“Nothing in my bedroom either,” said Robin. “Nor the bathroom. I looked under my bed, inside the closet... We’re alone. Dree, the door was locked when we came in, the windows are closed. No one could’ve gotten inside, you dreamed it, sweetie.” She spoke softly, a hand on Alexandra’s back. Strike lowered his cane.

“I know what I saw,” argued Alexandra again, glaring at them. “I touched him, I felt him. It was a dwarf, this tall.” She put a hand next to her hip, showing the height.

“A dwarf,” Strike raised eyebrows. “Al, are you hearing yourself? A dwarf? In London?”

“You’re my dad, shouldn’t you believe me?”

“Well, yes dear, but you’ve got to admit it sounds c...”

“There!” Alexandra interrupted, pointing to a corner. “There, dad!”

Strike turned around lifting his cane once more, but saw nothing. Robin frowned.

“What?” asked Robin.

“Oh come on guys, he’s jumping on my bed! What are you, blind?” Alexandra pointed. “Don’t you hear him laughing? Don’t you see him lifting his knife? Careful, dad, he’s going to stab you!” Strike scowled and turned around, putting his cane down and looking at Robin, who looked worried too. They turned to Alexandra. “What? Why are you ignoring me?”

“Alexandra, honey,” said Strike as gently as he could. “What you’re seeing, hearing and touching... it only exists for you.” Alexandra looked at him, shocked.

“What?”

“We don’t see or hear anything, Al,” said Robin softly.

“But that’s impossible. Are you alright?” asked Alexandra looking concerned at them.

“We are. Unfortunately, you may not.” Strike looked at her intently, his stomach dropping.

 

 


	27. The downs of fatherhood

Strike kept a strong arm wrapped around Alexandra, a hand holding hers. Robin sat on the other side of the younger girl, caressing her back as the younger trembled with fear and worry. They were all worried. Across from them, on the other side of a desk, sat a middle-aged man, a general physician recommended by Nick. He was gentle and kind, which was what Alexandra needed right then.

“So, Alexandra,” the doctor spoke softly. “You say there’s a dwarf with green hair and a sharp voice, who’s been following you around ever since you woke up this morning. You say he’s here.”

“Yes,” Alexandra nodded, looking down. She was embarrassed and scared she may be mental. “And he’s yelling, all the time. And holding a knife threateningly. Right now he’s dancing on your desk.” The doctor nodded slowly.

“What is he yelling about?”

“He says we’re all dead,” replied Alexandra.

“Alright,” the doctor smiled gently at her. “Is this the first time you’ve ever seen, heard or touched something that seemed real but made no sense? Or that other people could not notice?”

“I think so,” said Alexandra. “Although to me, it seems so real, I may not have noticed it wasn’t. If I ever saw or heard something around the street, and it wasn’t real... I don’t know.”

“Okay. How do you sleep lately, Alexandra?”

“Well,” Alexandra shrugged. “I slept nine hours today or so. I don’t feel tired. I’m healthy, I feel healthy, I hardly ever drink, I don’t smoke nor do drugs, and I’m not medicated. I’m a secretary, my life hardly ever is stressful, I’m... I don’t know why I should be hallucinating.”

“Has anything stressful happened recently? Any major life changes?” Alexandra shrugged.

“All sorts, I suppose? I mean...” Alexandra sighed. “I grew up in Southampton, my mother died at birth and I didn’t know I had a living father, so I was brought up by my grandparents and they passed away recently in a car accident, in June, while I was out in University” she shrugged. “But I’m alright. I’m working, I found my dad... I’m fine, I’m telling you.” Strike sighed and shook his head.

“I almost died recently. I was shot a few months ago, in the summer. That was stressful for us all. But yeah, things are good now... Do you think those things could be why... well, why she sees a dwarf dancing on your desk?” the doctor shrugged a little.

“There are many reasons why this is happening. It could be a brain issue such as a haemorrhage or a tumour, but the scans came out just fine and the neurosurgeon said it all looks good in there,” explained the doctor. “It could be an isolated episode due to stress, meds, drugs, lack of sleep... but she says she’s not suffering any of that. She’s as healthy as the tests we ran say she is, and she’s well-rested, has a good diet, does her exercise, keeps herself active. That leaves us with only one possibility left.”

“I’ve gone mad,” murmured Alexandra. “I’m schizophrenic, isn’t it?”

“Well it definitely has to be something mental, in the psychiatric field,” said the doctor. “But that doesn’t mean you’re schizophrenic. It could be something else, but that is for a specialist from psychiatry to evaluate, so I will send you to one. Is there any history of psychiatric issues in the family? Even if it’s something as normal as OCD or dyslexia?”

“Not that I know of,” said Alexandra, then looking to Strike, who shook his head.

“I don’t know if it counts,” said Strike, worried for Alexandra. “But my mother, Al’s grandma, did drugs. Nothing big, and it never made her lose her shit or anything, but there’s that. My sister and I were already born when that happened though.”

“I don’t think that could’ve caused this, don’t worry. I’ll introduce you to Doctor Bolton now, if that’s alright.”

Another round of questions and testing in the psychiatry ward and Doctor Bolton, who was a nice, middle-aged woman, psychiatrist and psychologist, knew what the problem was.

“I think,” Doctor Bolton spoke kindly, as they sat in her consult. “That what we have here is a case of schizoaffective disorder.”

“Schizoaffective...” Alexandra’s eyes widened. “What’s that? Is a form of schizophrenia? Am I going to be alright?”

“The Schizoaffective Disorder is a condition that includes symptoms of schizophrenia, such as hallucinations, with symptoms of a mood disorder, which I believe in your case, comes in depressive type, even though you haven’t gone in a full-blown depression, sometimes it’s not so evident and your recent life events suggest it’s underlying,” Doctor Bolton gently explained. “We’ll prescribe you antipsychotics and antidepressants and add therapy, and you should be doing much better the moment they start kicking in.”

“Will she stop hallucinating?” asked Strike with a frown.

“Yes,” the doctor nodded. “However, this is a lifelong issue that will always need looking-after. In your case, Alexandra, I think it hasn’t gotten as bad as it could, and you’ve come here right at the first signs, which is good. You’re not isolated like many patients with types of psychosis are, and you don’t have substance abuse, although you’ll have to fully drop alcohol so it doesn’t interfere with the medication. Your symptoms so far aren’t very aggressive, you’re one of the lightest cases I’ve seen. You’ve got a pretty stable life, and once we get the hang of this, nailing the right doses of medication and the right therapies that work for you, you should be able to carry a pretty normal life. You just have to be patient until we manage the right treatment.”

Afterwards, Alexandra refused to stay in bed, so they went back to work, deciding to proceed with the day as normal as possible. Perhaps that would help Alexandra too.

“I’ll see you later,” said Robin picking up her purse to head home and change and then go do surveillance outside. She walked through the inner office to Strike and cupped his face before giving him a peck on the lips. “It’ll be alright,” she added softly before pecking his lips again. “She’s a Strike, there’s nothing she can’t manage.”

“I know,” Strike nodded, his big hands on her hips as he accepted the second peck. Each little kiss seemed to lift a weight of his shoulders, and he was happy he was finally free to kiss her if he wanted to, and touch her the way he felt like it around the office, and it wouldn’t be unappreciated. “Be careful.”

“Don’t go Berserk,” Robin joked winking at him before going outside. Strike heard her affectionately bid farewell to Alexandra before leaving the offices. Then, Strike followed with the pretext of filling his mug of tea. 

As he did so, he looked cautiously at Alexandra, who stared at the computer screen with a tired expression. She was researching for a case, going over Google Maps to get addresses.

“Did the hallucinations stop?” Strike dared to ask.

“Well,” Alexandra sighed. “A guy has been drinking tea and talking politics on the sofa for the past half an hour, but no one has made a mention about it so I suppose they didn’t stop yet.” Strike nodded.

“It’s like seeing the dead, if you think about it,” said Strike in a light tone as he cradled his mug of tea, trying to make the mood lighter. “You see and hear things that don’t exist for Robin or me. Is like a special skill.” Alexandra looked at him with incredulous eyes.

“I am having hallucinations, I’ve been diagnosed with a disorder that includes from hallucinations to paranoia such as thinking my thoughts aren’t my own, beliefs of being controlled, delusions, mania, depression... I’ve got something only one every hundred people have. I’m fucking nuts, dad, this is a terrible thing to happen, there is no way I could see this as a not-so-bad... why are you chuckling?” Strike tried to avoid chuckling and shrugged.

“My girl has already memorised every single fact of her condition,” said Strike. Alexandra sighed, but nodded. “Al, honey, everybody is somewhat crazy. Everybody has issues. You’re way more than this thing, and you know it. You’re so, so much more, and to me, being a little crazy doesn’t make you any less. It just makes you a bit more interesting. I know in a few weeks, when the treatments start working properly, it’ll be alright, it always is in the end. And in the meantime, if anyone could deal with this and pull through, that’s you.”

“You’ve got a lot of faith,” said Alexandra as her attention drifted back to the screen, lazily moving London’s map on the screen. Strike chuckled smugly.

“Of course I do, you’re my daughter. You’re better than most people.” Alexandra snorted a laugh but looked at him appreciatively.

“I saw Robin wearing your clothes. She didn’t come home last night so,” she raised her eyebrows suggestively. “May I assume it went well?” Strike couldn’t help the smile that betrayed him.

“Really well,” he confessed. Alexandra smiled small.

“Good,” she looked back at the screen. “Finally something bloody good.”

They worked for the whole day, Strike deciding not to leave Alexandra alone in no moment, no more than the loneliness the outer office provided, and at night, they went back to Alexandra’s flat, where Robin was already busy making dinner for the three of them. Strike went on to help her while they talked about work, sharing Robin’s advances on her cases, and Strike’s own. The strawberry-blonde was successfully becoming a detective and Strike was mere assistance these days. It was a nice change to allow themselves to touch each other  _differently_ now; a hand on the hip, a hand that posed for a beat too long on the other’s arm, a look here, a peck there, a kiss on the shoulder, a caress...

They had made ravioli with cheese sauce and salad, and as they sat down to eat it, Strike kept his eyes from the food to his worn-out daughter, paying attention to the way her hallucinations seemed to take all her energy from her.

“What do you girls think,” proposed Strike, “if we all go down to St Mawes for Christmas, uh? Sailing, visiting Land’s End, King Arthur’s Tintagel Castle... it won’t be as bloody cold as it is here either. Doesn’t it sound nice?” Alexandra and Robin both looked at him with a hint of surprise while munching their food.

“I would have to check with my family in Masham but it does sound very nice,” conceded Robin with a small smile.

“I’ve never seen Cornwall and I’ve got nothing to do here so, sure,” Alexandra nodded. “If I’m not in a mental hospital by then...”

“Excellent,” Strike chuckled. “You will love it. Aunt Joan will make her famous chocolate mugs, and Uncle Ted will have already grown the annual Christmas tree... and we could see my friend Dave Polworth, his daughters are only a bit younger than you.”

“Although,” Alexandra remembered. “Won’t Ilsa and Nick’s children be here by Christmas? Perhaps they would appreciate it if we stayed to help around.”

“You’re so considerate,” Robin smiled small. “She’s got a point.”

“Nick’s parents live in London, they’ll help,” Strike shrugged. “They’ll have the Christmas they always dreamed of.”

Alexandra retired soon to bed, which Strike was half expecting, and he and Robin retired to Robin’s bedroom and got into their pyjamas, which to Strike was just his boxers and underwear t-shirt. Outside, a rainfall was beating the windows up.

“I’m going to check on Lex,” said Strike leaning to kiss Robin’s lips as the woman was reading in bed. Robin smiled and nodded, and Strike used his crutches to get to the other room, since he had already removed his prosthesis. He knocked on the door and pecked inside, seeing the darkness. “Lex? Are you sleeping?” He whispered. Not receiving another answer but Alexandra’s slow-deep breathing, Strike crutched inside and carefully lied on the bed next to her, over the sheets. He stared at the sleeping figure, moving a finger to caress her cheek. Her face was just so much like Leda’s, it was bizarre.

“Please go away,” Alexandra murmured. Strike frowned and retired his finger. “I know you’re not real. Let me sleep, I’m tired.”

“I am real. I’m your dad,” said Strike. Alexandra’s eyes fluttered open and she looked at him with surprise.

“What are you doing here?”

“Checking on my girl, obviously,” Strike lied facing the ceiling, and turned his head to keep his eyes on her. Alexandra looked back.

“I’m fine, daddy,” Alexandra snuggled closer to him and closed her eyes again.

“Did they stop?”

“No, I’m just trying to ignore them. I’m starting to get a headache, though.” Strike nodded. It was so frustrating to know something was hurting his daughter and there was nothing he could do because it was all in her head. “It sucks, how much things can go downhill in one hour, doesn’t it?” murmured Alexandra. “Yesterday I was fine, today I speak with the monsters under my bed. I don’t know how I’m going to survive a whole life like this, dad.” She sighed.

“Yeah...” Strike looked at his stump on top of the covers. “But you will. Have I ever told you about when my leg got blown out?”

“You never talk about those things,” Alexandra opened her eyes, her hand on his belly as she snuggled against him.

“Well, I was thirty-two when it happened. Life was prettier than it had ever been, I had a stunning girlfriend waiting for me at home, I had three nephews I barely had to be in contact with,” Alexandra sniggered, “and a flat in Chelsea with my girl. I travelled the world and participated in military boxing competitions, and it was so great. And then... I remember waking up on the floor, sitting-up to look down... seeing the blood and fainting. Then I woke up in the hospital in London, and I’ve never seen my people look so worried, so scared... they were white. And I had no leg. I can’t even express how that felt like or how much it physically hurts, but I kept thinking that it would never grow back. It was for life. Even with a prosthesis that I waited a year for, there’ll always be pain. My life will never be as it was, and things become harder, and there are very painful falls with my heaviness and all, and nightmares, and all sorts of excruciating hells. I can’t drive any car like before, or go skiing, or surf if I wanted to, and kayaking is rather hard now. I can’t do many things. But it gets better. I’ve pulled through something I would’ve never thought myself capable of, I get to be with my family and my friends again, and I have a wonderful daughter and an incredible girlfriend not even in my best dreams I could’ve imagined. And sometimes, it hurts, but it’s all just life, you see? One day you’re going to cuddle your children to sleep, or your dog, or whatever you want to have, and your life will be way better than anything you’ll ever be capable of dreaming, and you’ll realise it can always get better. The worst things look like, the more room you have for improvement.”

Alexandra looked at him with a soft smile and pressed her lips against his bearded cheek.

“I’ve got the best father in the world.”

Time later, when Robin went to check of them, she found them both snuggled together asleep, Strike’s snores filling the room over Alexandra’s softer ones. She chuckled going to give them both goodnight kisses, and headed back to her bedroom.

 

 


	28. Heartbroken

When the sun came through the curtains in the morning, Strike’s eyes opened and he pouted at the ceiling. His yawn echoed in the room and disfigured his face for a moment, and then he looked around. Alexandra wasn’t in the room, so Strike got out of bed and crutched to the bathroom, having a pee before going to put on his prosthesis. There in Robin’s bedroom, he found Robin, in bra and skirt, looking in her closet for a blouse. Strike stared at her, at the freckles covering her shoulders and at the way she frowned lightly when she couldn’t find what she wanted, and in a moment Robin had caught him and smiled at him.

“Good morning, did you sleep well?” she asked. Strike nodded, going in for a hug and humming contently as he sunk his bearded face in her neck, inhaling deeply, as he had missed her. Robin, unused to Strike’s affections, was surprised at first, but then she happily hugged him back, kissing the side of his head where she could reach.

“Why didn’t you wake me up?” murmured Strike lazily as he pulled apart but they kept their arms around each other.

“You looked so content and comfortable I didn’t want to bring you back to the real world,” replied Robin, giving him a kiss. Strike looked smug as the kiss ended.

“The real world is better than anything I could dream of.”

“Aw, sweet,” Robin tapped his shoulder and pointed at the closet. “Navy blue blouse or green one?”

“You’ll do well with any but...” Strike shrugged. “Blue? Brings up your eyes?”

“Good choice, thanks,” Robin kissed him again. “Al is having breakfast in the kitchen.” Strike nodded and walked towards the small kitchen, finding Alexandra toying with a bowl of cereal and looking tired.

“Morning, how are you feeling today?” asked Strike while pouring himself some tea and shoving a muffin into his mouth.

“I’m exhausted,” murmured Alexandra. “Woke up a dozen times during the night. Not because of you, I just heard things. But I don’t think I’ve hallucinated anything since I woke up... Robin says I might just be experiencing side-effects from the medication.” She explained drowsily, and Strike nodded.

“Do you feel up to work today?” asked Strike.

“Sure,” Alexandra nodded. “Although I won’t be able to stay so long. I’ve got therapy at three. Robin will drive me.”

“Alright, well, anything you need, just let us know.”

“I’m going to get going,” said Robin entering the kitchen all dressed and ready. “I will see you at the office.”

“That you’ll do,” Strike stood up to kiss her goodbye and Alexandra pretended not to notice. As the door closed behind Robin, Alexandra snorted a laugh.

“You look so bloody smug every time she kisses you.”

“Like you wouldn’t,” replied Strike looking at the door wishing Robin would come back already.

Once Robin had driven Alexandra to therapy, she came back to the office and Strike and her snuggled together in the farting sofa, as they didn’t expect more clients for the rest of the day. Robin told Strike about what she had read and studied on Alexandra’s disorder, and they got a moment to talk about the issue at hand.

“...at least since I live with her, I’ll be able to watch over her a little,” said Robin, her legs thrown over Strike’s lap and an elbow on the back of the sofa, her head on her hand, and her free hand between Strike’s own.

“So you don’t want to go back to Nick and Ilsa’s?” asked Strike. He hadn’t expected for Robin to be willing to put up with Alexandra’s state. “No one can blame you if you don’t want to live with someone who might try to kill you if she hears an imaginative you saying shit.”

“I think I can put up my knowledge to good use with Alexandra,” said Robin. “I want to stay. I want to help. She’s my friend.” Strike nodded.

“You’re a saint.” Robin snorted.

“I’m only human,” replied Robin. “Are you going to tell your family?” Strike shrugged.

“She can tell if she wants to,” answered Strike. “It would probably be good if they knew so they could support her though, right?” Robin nodded. “On another side, Ilsa’s going to be popping babies anytime soon, so perhaps they would rather not know.”

“Well they are her honorific godparents so,” Robin shrugged. “I think they’d want to help.”

“We’ll see what Al wants to do. If she wants to keep this as a secret for as long as possible until someone notices, then we’ll have to respect that. I just want her to be okay.”

“She will be,” Robin kissed his cheek. “You are a good father, Cormoran.”

“Thanks,” Strike leaned for a real kiss. “I’m so happy we finally got together.” Robin smiled kissing him again.

“Me too. They’re going to flip when they find out, uh?” Strike sniggered.

“This is just the perfect moment for the classical ‘we’ve good bad news and good news, which one do you want first?’” Robin chuckled and threw her arms around his neck, pressing their lips together sweetly.

Afterwards, Strike accompanied Robin to pick Alexandra up from therapy. It had been a two hour session, as it was the first one and right after a crisis, and it was important to start things strong. Strike introduced himself to Alexandra’s therapist and they spoke a little bit about her disorder before he joined Alexandra and Robin in the Land Rover.

“She’s happy with you,” commented Strike looking at Alexandra. “Says you’ve been very collaborative.”

“I thought there was patient-therapist confidentiality?” murmured Alexandra with the eyes closed and her temple on the window. She was completely worn-out.

“There is, that’s why she couldn’t tell me more than that,” Strike shrugged. “How about you, you feel it helped?”

“Somewhat, yes,” Alexandra sighed. “Can we rush home, please? I’ve got the worst headache of my life and the dog from The Simpsons has been barking at the car from the street for a while now.”

“Welcome back, hallucinations,” Strike squeezed her arm softly from behind her, and Robin drove back to the apartment.

The next day, Alexandra refused to get out of bed, claiming to be exhausted. Strike called the doctor to see if a change of meds was possible, but for now they didn’t want to change them, as they seemed to be working to reduce the symptoms, so Alexandra would have to deal with the side effects. Strike and Robin decided to take turns at work to watch over the younger one, and this went on for a week, until Alexandra seemed to get more used to the medication and was able to resume her life again.

It was during one of these back-to-semi-normal nights that Strike and Robin were busy making love in her bedroom, making sure to be as quiet as possible as to not disturb Alexandra’s sleep, when the sound of movement in the sitting room and Alexandra’s voice seemingly arguing with somebody there, made Strike stop moving and Robin’s eyes pop open and stare at the door.

“What was that?” asked Robin. “It sounded like she was yelling? You need to go and check.”

“With a hard-on?” Strike hovered over her, sweaty.

“Oh, come on Cormoran, she’s nineteen and she’s mentally unstable, and you can go in there just throwing some boxers on, while I’d need more time.” Strike sighed and nodded, groaning as he got out of her wetness and put on some boxers before throwing Robin’s gown over his body as he left the bedroom, trying to cover himself up properly.

“Lexie, you alright?” asked Strike entering the sitting room. What he saw froze him in a moment. Alexandra had opened a window and was sitting on it with her legs hanging to the street. “Alexandra! Get back in here immediately!” he rushed to her and Alexandra turned around to look at him. She had tears in her eyes and it immediately broke his heart.

 

 

 


	29. Not alone 'cause I'm here with you

“I need to jump, dad,” Alexandra sobbed-out. “They’re telling me to jump. They will stop if I do. Everything will stop. And I won’t bother you anymore.”

“Al, sweetie, you could never bother me, you’re my daughter. But if you jump, you’ll shatter my heart, you hear me? Come back inside, please,” said Strike standing carefully at an opportune distance. “If you’re going to do what any voice says, do what I say. Robin! Come in here!” Robin had already been getting ready the moment he left the bed and instantly appeared in the sitting room wearing one of Strike’s huge t-shirts. Her eyes widened at the sight. “She wants to jump, Robin!”

“Don’t you dare,” Robin looked at Alexandra full of concern. “Alexandra, come here with us, we’ll help you. Whatever it is, we’ll help you.” Alexandra shook her head, and looked down into the street. Another tear fell.

“I have to. It’s the only way out. They’re shouting for me to jump, it’s the right thing to do...” Alexandra cried. 

Strike took advantage of the fact that she was looking at the street and deaf with the shouting of her voices to quickly walk behind her and, right when she was about to jump, he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her inside. Alexandra cried and shook trying to get off his grip, but it was strong and Strike quickly reaffirmed it, throwing her over his shoulder in a show of impressive strength and putting her on the sofa, pinning her down.

“Stop!” Alexandra was trying so hard to free herself that she was hitting Strike’s chest with her palms and he had to grab her wrists to restrain her. “Stop, Al!”

“Cormoran, let her go,” said Robin kneeling next to the sofa and keeping an arm softly over Alexandra’s waist. “She’s not going anywhere and I think you’re scaring her further.” Strike nodded and let go off her wrists, standing by the sofa as the younger girl cried and pressed her hands against her ears.

“SHUT UP! SHUT UP!” Alexandra cried in desperation. “Dad, Dad, help me! Make it stop!” Strike stood there powerlessly feeling a knot fill his throat.

“Sh...” Robin caressed Alexandra’s face looking at her with sadness and trying to calm her down. “Calm down, sweetheart, it’s going to be okay. Are you in pain?”

“I can’t hear you!” Alexandra looked at Robin through her tears. “They’re too loud! They want me dead!” Robin looked at Strike, who had lost all the colour from his face, and took his hand to call his attention. He looked down at her with an expression of sorrow she had never seen in him.

“You need to get dressed. We need to take her to the hospital.” Strike nodded and rushed back to the bedroom. Robin looked back to Alexandra and kept trying to calm her down, unsuccessfully.

When Strike was ready, Robin instructed him to put Alexandra in the Land Rover, she’d be down as fast as she could throw some clothes on. Strike didn’t feel the screams in his leg as he took Alexandra in his arms like a little child, wrapping her up with Robin’s help in the sofa blanket and putting her long legs around his hips. He rushed to the Land Rover down the street and jumped to the backseat, cuddling Alexandra against himself. Robin was there two minutes later, looking stressed, and accelerated without muttering another word. Alexandra complained and cried the entire short drive to the closest hospital, saying her head hurt so much, the voices were so loud, and apologising time and time again for God only knew what.

It had been three weeks since Alexandra’s diagnose and, as the doctors sedated her and took her for more tests and Strike and Robin sat in the waiting room holding hands, it felt they had touched rock bottom. Strike rubbed the scar in his chest feeling as if he couldn’t breathe, and cried. Robin was shocked at first, having never seen him cry, even though she had tears in her eyes as well, but she had soon cradled Strike in her arms and whispered anything comforting she could come up with, while Strike felt terrible he had ever not wanted a child, for now all he could think of was what would be of his life without Alexandra in it.

In the morning, Alexandra was sent home. The doctors declared it had just been a major crisis, changed her medication, and made it so strong she was practically a zombie, but at least she wasn’t crying, nor complaining, in no pain and with no hallucinations, or at least none she could care about. Strike tucked her in bed and read her to sleep, and then went to look for Robin. He found her locking all the windows close.

“This should give us more time if she ever tries again,” said Robin, feeling his presence. “And I hid her keys, just in case she tries to get out during the night, and put all the cutting utensils in a locked drawer in my bedroom. If she wants to hurt herself, she’ll have to get very creative.” Strike nodded and simply hugged her close. He felt beaten up and Robin was quick to sense it and squeeze him tightly, instantly giving him a sense of calmness. “Don’t worry, we got this. These meds will work and she’ll be okay.”

“She’s a bloody zombie,” murmured Strike against her neck, his voice hoarse. “She can’t even fix her eyes when you talk to her. What kind of quality of life are they giving her?”

“It’ll just be for a couple days, then they will lessen the medication and she’ll be back to normal,” encouraged Robin, although she wasn’t sure she believed things. 

“I’m her father,” Strike pulled apart, looking down. “I’m supposed to protect her of everything bad... But how am I going to protect her if the thing that’s hurting her is inside her head?” Robin cupped his face between her hands. Her own eyes were still watery.

“We make sure she knows she’s not battling this alone.”

They walked together to Alexandra’s bedroom and snuggled at each side of her bed with her as she slept. Strike’s hand squeezed Robin’s over Alexandra for a moment and he smiled tiredly at her.

“Thanks for being so bloody incredible with us.” Robin smiled back.

“You’re family.” Strike nodded and they closed their eyes, preparing to rest the little they could before Alexandra went Berserk again.

After a substantially long nap, Strike and Robin headed to work and to make lunch respectively, although Strike was back home in less than an hour, unable to focus. He took a bowl of the soup Robin had made and he carried it to Alexandra’s bedroom to feed her. Putting it on the nightstand, he sat on the verge of the bed and shook Alexandra awake.

“Daddy?” Alexandra’s eyes popped open and looked at him with exhaustion. “What happened? What day is it?”

“Friday,” answered Strike. “You had a little crisis last night, we had to take you to the hospital and apparently, the new medication knocks you out, but keeps the monsters at bay,” he gestured to the bowl. “Are you up for giving your old man the baby experience?” Alexandra smiled small and nodded, sitting up and letting him cool a spoonful with his blows and put it in her mouth.

“How’s my bestie doing?” Robin came into the room with a smile in her face and sat next to Alexandra. “Is that good?”

“Delicious, I bet you made it,” said Alexandra. Strike gestured fake offence, filling another spoonful. “I’m okay. Sleepy, drowsy... but no hallucinations and no pain. I remember the worst headache of my life. Thank you for taking care of me, I know you’re losing money.”

“We are family, and money is just money. If I have to beg Rokeby for money so I can stay and take care of my kid, I will, maybe that way he’ll learn what fatherhood is about,” commented Strike.

“But you hate Jonny Rokeby,” said Alexandra matter-of-factly.

“It’s not about fighting what we hate as much as it is about protecting what we love,” replied Strike leaning to kiss her forehead. Alexandra smiled, touched, and accepted more soup.

The girls started doing small talk and Strike observed while feeding Alexandra, wondering how Robin and him had gotten so domestic, with a child none of them asked for, and were so happy in it. It was a weird evolution of the circumstances, but he welcomed it. If he was to go domestic with anyone, it would be with Robin.

“Almost forgot,” mentioned Robin suddenly. “Ilsa called. They were thinking, since the babies are so close to coming and she’s feeling better than other days today, we could all go to her house tonight and have one last dinner just us before the triplets make life chaotic, and also celebrate my birthday a little, since we were all so busy that weekend. Lucy’ll come, and Dave’s family, since they came here for a few days.”

“Aw, it sounds like so much fun. I could meet Dave’s daughters!” said with enthusiasm, Alexandra. Strike nodded.

“Well, I actually told them we weren’t going, that your father got a cold and passed it on to us both and now we’re all locked in the flat,” said Robin with an apologetic expression. “She proposed to change the date though, maybe next week, and we celebrate Cormoran’s birthday too, since the triplets will most likely be here by then already and screw the occasion.”

“Oh, come on guys, you can’t miss this for me,” argued Alexandra. “I’ll be sleeping and if I feel bad again I will call. Dad, they’ve been your best friends for over thirty years, you need to have one last celebration before they get three kids at once and the occasions to see them become significantly reduced.” Strike sighed.

“Precisely because we’ve been friends for so long, we will survive parenthood,” Strike shrugged. “They’d do the same in my situation. We’ve had enough good times before kids to remember forever, and that’s life. We’re not gonna be getting drunk in the pub until we’re eighty.”

“You should,” Alexandra shrugged. “Please, if you stay for me, I’ll feel guilty.”

“As far as I’m concerned I made you all sick, I’m staying because colds need to stay away from pregnant women,” argued Strike.

“Dad...” Alexandra gave her a stern look. “What if I go too, uh? I feel fine to go, with my medication. Then you can watch over me.”

“What if you have another crisis there? Do you want them to know your issue?” asked Strike frowning in concern.

“My crises are going to happen no matter where I am, and I’d rather be out having fun than lying on the bed waiting for them. And I’m not ashamed of what I’ve got, I don’t care who knows. Nick’s a doctor, if anything goes down the drill, I’ll already have assistance. Besides, with how strong these meds are, I’ll be fine.”

“You do look a bit stoned when you’ve just taken them,” commented Robin with a small smile.

“We’re in family,” Alexandra shrugged and smiled small. “Please?” Strike sighed.

“Fine.”

“I’ll call Ilsa,” Robin squeezed Alexandra’s hand and left. Strike rolled eyes.

“You’ve got me so wrapped around your finger...”

**. . .**

“Do you really think we can do this?” asked Strike as he walked into the bathroom, where Robin was standing in a summer dress, doing her make-up.

“Yes,” Robin nodded, putting some shadow on her eyelids. “She’s been asleep all day, she’s pretty high and chilled, we’ll explain what she’s got and that’s all. If she feels shitty, we’ll go home. She needs to socialise, get out a little, I read it’s supposed to help people with her issue. Keep her spirits up.”

Strike nodded and adjusted his jacket.

“I hope you’re right.”

 

 

 


	30. Dysfunctional family

Alexandra returned to the table cheerfully. She had gone to accompany Dave’s daughters to the door as they left to party with their friends. The teenagers had gotten along with Alexandra about as well as their fathers, and invited Alexandra to come over, but she decided it was prudent to stay and keep her head out of parties for the time being, but they exchanged numbers to meet the next time they came over from Bristol.

Ilsa and Nick’s new house was indeed more spacious and it had its own dining room, a big room with a big table just for them, with a huge painting of Land’s End’s cliff on the wall, a big window that illuminated the room with views to the garden, and a beautiful dark blue tablecloth. From there they could hear the laughing of Lucy and Greg’s three sons as they played Lego in the sitting room, accessible through an arch in the dining room. Alexandra returned to her seat, between Robin and Aunt Lucy, while Strike was laughing at something between Dave and Robin.

“You hit it off well with the girls, Al?” asked Penny Polworth, Dave’s wife, smiling warmly at her while Nick refilled her cup of wine.

“They’re nice,” said Alexandra happy to be there and a bit less stoned after a few hours had passed from the last time she took her meds. “It’s curious they already got friends in London despite not living here.”

“All children of old friends of Penny,” explained Dave. “She’s a Londoner to her roots, right, love? So the girls had years to make friends here. It’s good to have them entertained a little, teenagers. They get so bored in Bristol at times! Don’t your friends from Southampton come to visit you sometimes?”

“I didn’t really have many friends there,” said Alexandra, leaning back in her seat. “I tend to dislike people my age, so it’s actually surprising I like your girls. My real friends are in Oxford but, of course, they’re studying over there so we’ll have to wait until the holidays. We do email often at least.”

“Ugh, what happened to letters...” murmured Strike. Robin sniggered remembering his drunken rant about them. The news about their relationship had been quickly uncovered and now her hand was between his big ones on his lap like nothing. He side smiled at her, hearing her snigger. “Whenever you’re tired we can go, Al.”

“I’m fine, really,” Alexandra rolled eyes at her father’s excessive concern and, seeing the way Lucy had looked at her, decided it was time to blow the news. “Dad’s just being his normal over-protective self because last night I would-up in the hospital.” She said as normally as possible.

“What?” Lucy looked alarmed. “Are you alright? What happened?” Alexandra looked at her father, who nodded signalling he could take over.

“Alexandra was diagnosed with schizoaffective disorder three weeks ago,” said Strike looking at no one in particular. “She was having hallucinations so they gave her medication to keep the symptoms controlled, but last night the meds weren’t enough, there was kind of a crisis moment, and we had to rush her to the hospital so they’d change the meds, which is why now she’s slightly stoned.” He added in a humorous tone to keep things light.

“And I’m good now,” added Alexandra. “But that’s why I preferred not to go party with the girls. Just in case.”

“Shit,” Nick frowned. “Well, we’re here if you need anything alright? Despite the kids and all. You should’ve call us, Oggy.”

“Is fine, Robin is a master keeping us all chill during moments of stress,” Strike looked at Robin appreciatively.

“Wait, so is this, like, schizophrenia or something?” asked Greg with a concerned expression.

“Some symptoms are like schizophrenia, some are more like depression,” explained Robin. “So far Alexandra just hallucinates and loses her shit.”

“Thankfully,” Alexandra nodded. “And my therapist is trying to help me find ways of sort of keeping things under control when hallucinations strike. But sometimes I don’t even distinguish they are hallucinations or they become particularly hard to handle. But none today so far.”

“You know where to find us if we can help with anything, niece,” said Lucy motherly squeezing her shoulder.

“Thanks, but I’m fine, really. Mostly tired and done with it, but they assured it’ll get better.”

“We should ask for a second opinion though,” said Strike having a sudden idea. “No one said you’d be constantly having headaches, and last night it looked pretty painful. Maybe they misdiagnosed.”

“Could be just side effects from the meds though,” murmured Robin.

“Fuck, so young,” Dave sighed. “Kinda cruel, innit?” Alexandra shrugged.

“Could be worse,” said Alexandra. “And at least there’s an explanation and a treatment. Besides, sometimes hallucinations aren’t that terrible, they can be almost entertaining on the boring days. One time I saw the dog from The Simpsons crystal clear.”

“That’s my girl, finding humour in the worst shit if necessary,” Strike winked at her.

There wasn’t really so much to say about such topic, so soon they changed topics and got busy with the talks about the impending arrival of the Herbert triplets. They had already shown them the nursery, ready for when the triplets were a few months old and could be left to sleep in a separate room alone. It was soft blue with three white cribs aligned one next to the other, a bookshelf already stocked with children books –many of them donated by Strike and Lucy- and stuffed animals, a changing table, and a beautiful soft rug so the children could play on it when they were a bit older.

“Due date is three days before Oggy’s birthday, actually,” was saying Ilsa, her hands over her enormous belly. “But we expect them sooner, a bit premature. We’re ready though, they said the normal thing with triplets is to be a month early.”

“Less you’ll have to wait to see them,” smiled Lucy, thrilled for them.

“Yeah, although there’s always the worry, but well. We’ve had the best care, didn’t we?” commented Nick, cheerful. “Since it’s a bit high risk with so many kids at once, there was prenatal care from minute one, they’re watching super closely. And it’ll be a C-Section for safety, which is what they usually do with babies, so Ilsa won’t even have to bother much.”

“Aside from having my body cut open,” Ilsa snorted, but looked happy regardless. “Wasn’t such a bad pregnancy though. Got all the sleep I hadn’t gotten since preschool, most likely.”

“And still no idea what to name them?” Lucy asked. “I’d hurry up to be almost set in stone guys, really, it gets difficult afterwards.”

“Actually, we do have names we’re almost 100% in agreement with,” Nick smiled proudly. “Took a lot of effort but it seems like it’s going to be Morgan, Theodore and Alice.”

“Uncle Ted is actually Uncle Theodore, did you know?” commented Strike.

“We know,” Ilsa conceded. “But we were more thinking of Theo, Nick just likes the long name and then shorten it. So technically, is not the same thing.”

“Morgan is like...” commented Robin. “King Arthur’s Morgana?”

“Is inspired on it, Ilsa is just obsessed with it. And we wanted to avoid the super common names, so Morgan seems like a good fit,” replied Nick.

“But like we said, nothing’s set in stone until we see them,” added Ilsa. “Although I do like Theo very much. That one was the easiest to find, we get way more demanding when it comes to the girls.”

“We liked Nicole a lot too but I’m Nick, so...” Nick shrugged. 

“Well... I kinda like them,” Robin looked satisfied. “Sound cute but also adult for when they grow up, and I can’t come up with any stupid name transformation they could make in school.”

“Nothing like Batman and Robin,” Dave chuckled. “Yeah, good job guys.”

“I think they’re beautiful,” added Penny. Lucy nodded in agreement.

“We almost chose Cormoran for the boy’s middle name,” commented Nick chuckling at Strike. “But then we remembered Louis,” he looked at Lucy, as he was referring to her eldest, “and others like the Anstises’ boy already have it so...”

“Besides, I would’ve killed you both and left my godchildren orphans,” said Strike non-seriously. “Theodore Cormoran Herbert. Come on, it sounds like you hate the poor boy.”

“So you give your thumbs up? If the most demanding with names person in the world does, then we can sleep satisfied,” Ilsa sniggered at her best friend, who side smiled, crooking his head to the side for a moment.

“Yeah, I think they’re good enough. I’ll always be grateful they’re nothing like... Ashleight. Ashleight, how many letters does that even have?” They laughed, and kept attending the drinks they had been served.

“I’m curious Dad, if you had been able to name me, what name would you have given me?” asked Alexandra all of the sudden. Strike took a sip of his drink and sighed, thoughtful.

“Uh... gee... I don’t know. I guess my mother’s name would’ve been a middle name at least so, probably not Alexandra, because it sounds a little redundant with Leda,” he shrugged. “Although I like the name you’ve been given, ‘cause it fits you. I might’ve named you...” Strike shrugged again, pursing his lips and staring into nothingness. “Mackenzie. I wanted for my mother to name your aunt that way, and she almost did, but then it didn’t go with her face, so I gave in,” Lucy rolled eyes and chortled. “I would’ve probably left it to your mother though. She was a very creative woman. And then it would’ve depended on which surname you would’ve taken.” Alexandra seemed satisfied with his answer.

“I’ve been thinking of taking up your surname, by the way,” commented Alexandra nonchalantly. She had forgotten about it, with how busy things had been, and now seemed a moment as good as any other to bring it up. Strike looked at her surprised.

“Really? Alexandra Strike?” Alexandra nodded happily. “Well, you don’t have to do it, but if it’s what you truly want, it’ll be my pleasure.”

“I was just thinking, my surname isn’t even real. Mum only used it for like, six months, it’s just invented, and I don’t like it was all because my grandparents were too embarrassed of having a pregnant teenager to let their people know. I’d much rather have a surname that comes from a good place, that has actually been ongoing in the family and is part of it, and between Strike and Gavernier, I really prefer Strike.”

“Well, then you should know our mother’s maiden name was actually Burke,” commented Lucy. “She just married some Strike she met at eighteen-years-old in the town fair, and Aunt Joan says it was all to get his surname. Guess she didn’t like Burke much.”

“Then she picked it because she liked it better, not because she wanted to hide or something,” Alexandra shrugged. “And if she thought it was good enough for my dad, then it’s good enough for me.”

“Set in stone then?” asked Robin.

“I think so, yeah. But before I get into that mess of paperwork, I’d rather get my own business controlled first.”

“Let’s toast then, shall we?” offered Strike standing up and raising his glass of beer, at which he looked for a moment, judgemental, as if thinking ‘wait, you’re not wine’, but then decided not to care. “To those triplets, who will hopefully grow up to be at least half the incredible people their parents are,” he smiled towards Ilsa, who already looked tearful. “And to the true family we choose to love, who make us laugh and cry, and make our lives a little fuller and lighter. Cheers!”

Later that night, as Strike tucked Alexandra in bed like a little child, Alexandra stopped him from leaving, and he stayed sat on the verge of the bed, looking questioningly at him.

“Don’t you ever wish you didn’t have me?” asked Alexandra, catching Strike by surprise. He could tell there was no resentment in her, it was just a plain simple question with no harm intended.

“No,” replied Strike right away.

“Not even now that I’m... well, with these problems?”

“No. Every kid comes with a baggage, that’s okay. We’re only human, Lexie,” affirmed Strike, making sure she was well tucked in, with her bottle of clean water on the nightstand, next to her medication. “I wish I had been there through your mum’s whole pregnancy. I wish I had known you from day one. I wish there had never been a time where you had no parents and that you had never had to doubt if your father wanted you or not, because I know how that feels like. But you know, all I can do now is take what I’ve been given and do the best I can with it.”

“But dad, how can you not be at least a little frustrated with having a kid all of the sudden? You never wanted one and yet... you’ve been nothing but welcoming.” Murmured Alexandra in the darkness.

“I didn’t think being a father would actually make my life any better,” Strike shrugged. “And now, when I saw you there about to kill yourself... I was genuinely scared. Not just because we’re friends and colleagues, but because I really felt I wouldn’t recover from burying my own child. Look, you’re like... like that unwanted pet that a child forces into your house. You never wanted it and you hate to suddenly be forced one upon you, but in most cases, that’s all just because all the pets of that kind you ever met where just shit for you, because they never resonated with you. But then you grow fond of this pet you’ve been given, and maybe you never wanted it but at some point, you can’t imagine or want to imagine a life without it, and you may even want more. It happens all the time, I’m sure you’ve heard, right?” Alexandra nodded. “I guess I didn’t want a kid for many reasons that now no longer matter, and one of them was because my idea of a child was very different from what I’ve actually been given. And I don’t know if I’ll ever want to have another, but I know I like you and I want you, even if you are a bit crazy. I guess you resonate with me, while all the others just seemed like little weird monsters. They weren’t for me. You are,” explained Strike, trying to make sense of his mental mess. “Does that answer your question?” he added with a little smile.

“It does,” Alexandra moved to kiss his forehead. “You’re the best father I could’ve asked for. Mum would be proud.”

“Your mum would be cracking up at me trying to find your damn tampons in the store all on my own,” Strike snorted. Alexandra chortled and Strike go up.

“Dad?”

“Yes?” Strike turned around when he was almost by the door.

“You said you wish you had known me from day one. Well, it’s not the same thing, but if you’re interested, there are photo albums in the sitting room. At least that’s something, right?” Strike smiled.

“Thanks, I’ll fetch them, actually. Goodnight kiddo, sweet dreams. And if the monsters come back, tell them you’re closed for the weekend.” Alexandra chuckled.

“I will. Goodnight.”

Strike left her door ajar and, hearing Robin in the shower, walked to the sitting room and found a photo album from 1992. He took it and walked to Robin’s bedroom, sliding under the covers and turning the lamp on. Strike was just staring at a picture of a little cheeky girl with dark eyes and short curls pulling herself up to her feet with her hands on some railing while biting it at the same time, with a smile in his face, when Robin came back.

“Hey you,” Robin slid under the covers in her pyjamas and kissed Strike on the lips. “What’re you’re doing?” she added, snuggling and putting an arm around his hips, pulling herself closer.

“This little one,” said Strike pointing at the picture. “It’s my Al. Cute, isn’t she? For one second I thought I was looking at myself.” Robin snorted.

“You two are pretty alike,” she cupped his face and kissed his cheek. “Tonight was kinda fun, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Strike nodded, putting the album away and turning the light off, snuggling with Robin. “God, it feels so nice to snuggle with you every single night.”

“We practically live together now, with your daughter, forming a weird, perfect, dysfunctional family.”

“That we do,” Strike kissed her forehead. “Perhaps I should spend more time in my attic. We’ve only been together for a few weeks, after all.”

“Maybe,” Robin shrugged. “Who cares, as long as you come to me at night.” Strike smiled and squeezed her between his arms.

“Sleep well, gorgeous.”

“You too, handsome.”

 

 

 


	31. (+18) Let's do this our way

A groan escaped Robin’s lips as Strike’s mouth gripped her neck and his thick, hard dick entered her swiftly, while his calloused fingers did wonders attending her nipples and a free hand attended her clit. He was just a master at attending her needs right in the appropriate moment, as if he knew her body perfectly well, and he never failed to amaze her in bed. Her clammy hands gripped his curls and broad back and her legs wrapped around his hips, encouraging him to go deeper, stronger, which he complied.

It was their first month together anniversary, and they were making the most of it in Strike’s attic’s, bed, while Alexandra was gone in therapy. It all had started in the office, and they had had a brief lovemaking session as Strike embedded his rod into her and she gripped her desk for dear life. They didn’t usually do that, sex in the office, as they were somewhat strict with keeping things professional the moment they entered into the room, but Robin had had a horny dream and Strike had asked her about it in the office, as he had heard her as she slept the night before. Things had escalated quickly and then, as they wanted to keep things professional in the office, they had rushed upstairs.

Strike was spending a lot of time at Robin and Alexandra’s, in a big way because he worried about his daughter pretty much constantly, and in a minor way because he, as much as he didn’t want to admit it, felt weird if Robin wasn’t around, as if he had forgotten something and his hands felt empty. Robin also spent a lot of time in the attic and, between one thing and the other, they became unused to being without each other. Some people would call it being over dependent, and they knew, they just seemed to forget why that was any relevant as they held onto each other and their bodies reacquainted.

“God,” a while later, Robin chuckled sitting up in bed and looking down at Strike lied on it. Strike loved her those times the most, when her hair was all dishevelled and messy, shining with the sunlight coming from the window, and her freckled breasts were exposed. “For an old man, you sure know how to please a woman. Full of stamina, you are.” Strike gave her a glare that made her giggle, and he sat up and sucked on her boob while attending the other with his free hand, making her giggles break into moans as she gripped his head and fell back on the bed.

“I’ll show you how much this old man can do,” murmured Strike, smiling as he rolled on top of her and kissed her while entering her again. Robin, who had never been loud in bed because she just didn’t feel it, found herself not being loud in bed with Strike for very different reasons, such as being so overwhelmed by pleasure she couldn’t even make a sound, like when one yelled and no sound came out.

After an hour of pleasure, they finally snuggled together, Strike spooning Robin with his huge body, just kissing lazily and hugged.

“I hate to break the moment and potentially ruin it all but,” murmured Robin after a while, stroking his cheek as his lips kissed her freckled shoulder from behind her. “You should know that as happy as I am to be dating you, I have expectations. If I accept risking what we had for this, that so far is so much better, is because I expect for this to keep being better. And you should know that...” she bit her lip and Strike looked at her intently. “I expect to marry again one day. I want a happily ever after with someone, a marriage that works and that is as incredible and good as it should be, and I want children, and a nice house and a forever after, while still being a detective. I want to be the badass woman who can have it all, marriage, motherhood, job... and be awesome at all of them at once, as hard as it may be. I was taking my time to decide what I wanted outside of Matthew and figure out if I truly wanted those things for myself or because of him, and this is what I want. I know you don’t want children, and... I think it’s time to say it. I can’t lose time and energy getting invested with someone who doesn’t want the same things, Cormoran, because then we’ll wind up breaking up and the more we wait for the inevitable, the more it’ll break our hearts. I’m not saying dating me means compromising with marrying me one day, I’m just saying, to me you’re a very real possibility of a husband, someone with whom I expect to want the same things for tomorrow and someone that, if big incompatibilities stay away from our relationship, I expect to call my husband one day. To me, my relationships need to be going somewhere, I’m not built up for meaningless hook-ups. If we later break up, fine, but I don’t want that to be for something we knew from the start that could be an issue, like wanting different things. I don’t want you to give up on the things you want for your life for me, and I don’t want to give up on the things I want for myself either, not for Matthew, and not for anyone.”

Strike flopped back on the mattress, looking at the ceiling, and felt a knot in his throat as a long sigh escaped his lips. He always knew it. Robin had been so excited and happy about her romantic love story of her boyfriend going on one knee in front of the statue of damn Eros, Robin was the girl you married and made mother, she was a sucker for the love stories, the fairytales, the happy endings that Disney built, even if they both knew life was nothing like that. Strike’s life had always been the complete opposite for a fairytale, and yet Robin wanted to try, make an effort, and make her life as much of a romantic, happy fairytale as possible. But not one where the princess had to be rescued. She differed with Disney in that. She was more of the fairytale of doing the hell she wanted, like she wanted, beside someone who did the hell he wanted, like he wanted, and crossing fingers that somehow what each wanted for themselves was compatible between themselves, so no one had to give up on their dreams for the other. That was her fairytale. Badass, independent, strong, grown-up, mother, detective, and wife, with a badass, independent, strong, grown-up, father, detective (or whatever his dream was, but certainly not another Matthew settling for something he didn’t truly want) and husband.

“Are you breaking up with me?” Strike whispered. Robin rolled around and snuggled against him, kissing his chest.

“I’m only telling you what I want. I’m only saying that if we envision the future of our lives in completely different ways then perhaps we shouldn’t be trying this out, because it won’t go anywhere if the happiness of one depends on the other screwing themselves up. Matthew settled with a job he didn’t quite liked, when he wanted to be a pilot, for the money, and he intended for me to settle with a job I didn’t quite like for the money too. We already saved that, we’re both doing the hell we want to do, things where our hearts are truly invested, things that make us happy. I know you’re not against marriage because you got engaged to Charlotte, and it’s not even a big thing if you don’t want to marry because as long as we’re together I can live with not being a marriage. I just want to know if there’s any possibility that in, I don’t know, I’m twenty-seven, so say, eight years from now, you’re going to want to have children with me. I don’t know, one, maybe two? Not much so we can still go detecting,” she commented, playing with his chest hair to distract herself from her nervous rambling and her sudden desire to puke at the stress. She didn’t want him to leave her. “Think about it. We could have a nice house together, give Alexandra some little siblings. I know you already have her, and of course, I’d love to have her a daughter too, through you, and I’m sure she’d feel as much of my daughter as any I gave birth to, but I want some with you. I want the actual process of giving birth and rising someone up, and we could go live anywhere, even in Cornwall, have them play in the beach all day. Or we could go live in the suburbs of London.”

“Don’t tell me you want the magnolia tree and the garden birthday parties and to wear an apron and tell me how to cut the chicken...” mumbled Strike.

“Babe,” Strike looked at her, surprised. She had never called him anything but Cormoran or, on occasion, sweetie. She was smiling at him, amused. “That’s the fairytale Lucy’s style. We could have it our own way, don’t you see? It can be an oak tree instead. It can be a garden birthday party with a detectives theme and homemade detective games. It can be afternoons playing Cluedo with our children, road-trips and camping in the middle of nowhere when we have to go on surveillance, sailing, horse-riding, seeing the world, and the apron? Perhaps it’s an apron with Batman & Robin drawings. I’m not telling you to take-up Lucy’s dream life, I’m saying, let’s make it our own. Marriage and children don’t always have to look like Disney, you know? It doesn’t always have to be the same stereotypical shit. A Goth may want marriage and children but perhaps for them the wedding dress is black and the children don’t ever wear a tie to school. Make it your own. What do you want your life to be?”

“I like things as they are,” said Strike with a half-put, caressing Robin’s back. He looked like a child who’s just been told it’s time to do his homework and stop playing around and procrastinating. “I like it you and me detecting all day and then having sex all night. I don’t like the idea of always being exhausted because my five children didn’t let me sleep all night.”

“It doesn’t have to change much, but we do need to grow up one day. You are amputee, and there’s a certain rhythm of life you can’t live at forever, and don’t give me that look,” Robin chuckled. “In eight years you’re going to be forty-five, there won’t be that much of alcohol and working so hard and going on long surveillances. There’ll be more of sharing workloads and being tired because as much as we hate it, our bodies don’t stay young forever,” Strike groaned and she grinned, and kissed him softly. “That’ll give us more time for sex, though. And children are made through sex.” She commented between kisses. Strike smiled against her lips. “Who knows, in eight years we could have a huge detective agency and be rolling in money.” They giggled between kisses.

“So the chore of this debate is whether I want children or not,” Strike sighed. It felt like a redundant debate, between Alexandra’s questioning and his friends all having children, and the comments of how good he was with Alexandra, and now Robin. 

He lost Tracey because of children, and now he might lose Robin for the same thing. But this time was different. In for a penny, in for a pound. He was already a father and that was something he could never undo. He might as well give Robin a child if she wanted one too, and perhaps see what he had missed with Alexandra. She had, after all, proven to be a good kid to have, and it would be different, having to raise one from scratch, but he’d always have a load of family, Robin, Alexandra and friends to chime in. It didn’t have to be terrible. It would be half Robin’s DNA, after all, so how bad could it be? And she deserved it all; everything she wanted. And Strike felt vertigo just by thinking of a life without her. If all he had to concede was a child, it would be stupid to say no when he already had one. 

“Fine,” Strike said, finally. Robin raised her eyebrows. “One child, perhaps two if we feel like it, both of us, when the time comes. A good house, with garden, in London. Garden birthday parties with beer and mystery games. Travelling to the beach, road-trips, camping, and never, ever becoming one of those typical parents I’m allergic to. I want a life of adventure and action, even with children, and I want to keep seeing the world and keep working until I’m old. I refuse to resign to being the magazine father. I want to be allowed to watch football, and I don’t want you to shut me up when I want to talk about football with my friends just because you don’t like it,” Robin grinned. “I don’t want us to be Lucy and Greg, nor any other from the damn movies. I want us to be Robin and Cormoran. I want for our life to be our way, and not like anyone else wants. And if our kid or kids want to get dirty riding horses and eating sand, then fine.”

“Let’s rebel against stereotypes then,” Robin grinned, kissing him deeply. Strike smiled against her lips, wrapping her ups in his arms. Strike’s phone rang and they ignored it. Then it rang again. And again. Robin finally groaned and pulled apart, fetching it for him and handing it to him. “I think it’s Nick, might be important.”

“Hello Nick, you better have a g... what?” Strike’s eyes widened and he sat up. “I’m on my way, I just have to get Al from the therapist and we’ll be right there, don’t panic.” He hung up and looked at Robin. “Ilsa had a c-section and the triplets have been born, they’re okay, a bit underweight but that’s normal with being premature, and they’ll be fine.”

“What’s the bad news?” Robin frowned, sensing something.

“There was some post-surgery complication and Ilsa’s gotten really bad, she’s in the OR again.”

 

 

 


	32. Let's build us a home

Strike, Robin, Alexandra and Nick stood around three incubators in the NICU, their hands stuffed in some of the holes they had to grab one little hand, caress one tiny feet and, in the end, just let little Morgan, Theo and Alice that they were not alone in the slightest. Morgan had been the first one to come out. She was the biggest of the three, although not for much, and had the least amount of dark hair, while Theo’s head was pretty well-covered. Morgan was wrapped-up like a burrito in a blue blanket with stars on it, had her father’s nose and her mother’s chin, and slept as if nothing could ever disturb her, not even the few tubes and cables here and there. Theo’s face was rounder than Morgan’s, like Nick’s, and now was framed by a green beanie, his lips were fuller, like Ilsa’s, and his cheeks, less cheeky than Alice’s. He had gone in the middle and his eyebrows were almost invisible. Alice, the last one, was the smallest baby, wrapped-up in a pistachio blanket with animals on it, and had blonde hair like her mother, covering her reddened face with big cheeks and lips that looked as if she was pursing them, and had long eyelashes, like her father. Nick was in awe at all three of them and even Strike had stood in shock at first, feeling it was so weird to see three variations of the genetics his best friends had combined. It was even weirder to find himself instantly fond and protective of the three, as if it was an extension of the appreciation and love he felt for his friends, which hadn’t really happened with his own nephews. Perhaps Alexandra had changed something in him or perhaps it was just that he got along with his friends way easier than with his sister.

Morgan Grace, Theodore Skylar and Alice Kathleen had had their names confirmed right before their mother had gotten bad and weaker and had been rushed to surgery. Even if all their first names were individual names their parents simply liked and that didn’t really repeat in their close circle, all the middle names had some meaning. Grace because Nick’s stillborn sister would’ve been named like that, Skylar because Doctor Skylar had been the one to facilitate things the most for them to have children, and had been there by their side the entire way, and Kathleen because it was Ilsa’s mother’s name. Their names were handwritten onto ankle bracelets and papers stuck to their incubators, and their father looked at them with eyes permanently wet and an expression as if they had put all the stars in the sky.

“Doctor Herbert,” a nurse came around. Nick looked up immediately. “Your wife is out of surgery and awake. It went well. May I take you to her?” Nick looked at Cormoran, lost, and he nodded.

“Give her our love, we’ll be here making these some company,” affirmed Strike.

It was hour before they could all go see Ilsa, when the babies’ time to be breastfeed came. Ilsa looked pale, with her glasses on, and despite everything, a smile from ear to ear as she held two of her babies in her arms, Nick holding the third as he sat next to her on the bed after the whole breastfeeding, enjoying their few minutes with them before they had to go back to the NICU.

“They’re perfect,” Ilsa declared to her mother as they both observed the newborns. Strike and Robin stood nearby, his arm wrapped around her shoulders. “Look, Nicholas, we made such a perfect family. Look what we’ve done.”

“You made most of it, my love,” Nick kissed her romantically and chuckled at the babies once again. “Can you distinguish them already?”

“’Course,” Ilsa grinned. “Our littlest, blondest, Alice, with her ball nose and your ears; our fat Morgan, with her father’s hair and nose; and our sweet boy Theo, with a head full of hair. They’re all so beautiful. How did we make them so perfect?”

“We left you in charge of the biggest part,” Nick smirked.

“Don’t you want to sleep for a little, love?” asked Ilsa’s mother stroking her hair. “It was a tough day...”

“I’m fine,” Ilsa shook her head, admiring her children. “As a matter of fact, I don’t think I’ve ever been better.”

“We got a happy ending in the end,” commented Alexandra as she, Robin and Strike left the hospital past dinner time, walking into the dark, cold streets of London. “They deserve it.”

“They are so cute, all three of them,” Robin grinned, holding into Strike’s arm. “With their chubby faces and their little feet. God, so adorable.” Strike sniggered.

“Had I known you got like this with babies, and I would’ve paid their fertility treatments myself,” joked Strike, putting his arm around Robin and kissing the top of her head. Now that they knew they were in the same page about their future, it felt as if they had suddenly grown closer and more serious. “What about you, Als? Will you make me a grandpa some day?”

“Of course,” Alexandra snorted a laugh. “If there is anything better than having a grumpy Doberman as a father is having a grumpy Doberman be a grandfather.” Robin and her giggled, and Strike rolled eyes, keeping Robin close.

They found the parked Land Rover and got inside. Alexandra tried not to smile too obviously as she sat in the backseat and saw, without making any comments, how Strike’s hand lingered on Robin’s thigh as she drove, and at every red light, Robin’s hand caressed his absentmindedly, while Strike dissimulated and looked through the window, his thumb brushing with her hand.

Although Strike often cooked dinner, that night Alexandra offered and Robin decided to help her, so Strike relieved himself of his prosthesis in the privacy of Robin’s bedroom, massaged his stump with pomade, and then, sitting at Robin’s desk, he stared thoughtful at the wooden surface, he thought deeply about the conversation he had had with Robin before. She had been right; they would have to grow-up one day. Strike couldn’t intend to be forty and still submit himself to the same amount of walking around, eating shit, and drinking as if there was no tomorrow, because otherwise, he wouldn’t make it to fifty. Now he had a daughter to live for, and he was finally with Robin, and he found he wanted to have a long life by her side. 

He wasn’t sure if he wanted to get married; after all, he had only asked Charlotte to marry him because she insisted. But he knew if he ever got married, it had to be with Robin. And if they never married, they could still sign themselves in the council hall or be a civil partnership, or whatsoever. They could still have a family. And Strike wanted everything for her. The fondness he had always felt for her had made him addicted to gifting her things: the dress first, the surveillance course second, her birthday festivities last. Strike was addicted to the dimpled grin she got whenever he gave her anything, even something as simple as her favourite tea in the mornings, or the opportunity to come with him on some work trip, and before he realised, Strike was grinning thinking of how happy she was going to be if they could get married, have a house together, and a baby. A little detective to train. A case to resolve in the form of a mini human. She would surely look beautiful pregnant, with her cheeky face and perfect breasts. For the first time ever, Strike found himself thinking of tomorrow with fondness; he imagined for the first time what a child with Robin could look like, with her strawberry-blonde hair and perhaps her blue-gray eyes and cheeks. They would surely love horse-riding in Robin’s uncle’s farm, and then Strike could show them how to camp, how to open locks, sail, and all those things Lucy would disapprove. He could have a little weird child like Alexandra was. Someone unapologetically Strike-Ellacott, with their weird bits and their love for detecting. Someone who quoted in Latin too and read mystery novels like their mother, and Strike dared to imagine himself coming into the office to see Robin leaning back in her desk, a baby with curly hair in her arms, attached to her breast like Ilsa’s babies had, and she would be singing softly to the baby, out of tune, like when she sang in the shower. Perhaps it would also have a bird name. Perhaps, if it was another girl, she’d look like Leda. It could be a musician, or perhaps a farmer, it could be anything. It’d be theirs.

Absentmindedly, Strike had started scrawling with a pencil on a paper sheet on the table. He had always had a good hand with drawing. Usually, this came in handy to draw certain work-related things, such as faces according to descriptions, or just to entertain himself. Before he realised, Strike had drawn a miniature of a small house, with a Land Rover parked at the door. He stared at it with longing. He had never lived in a real house. Small flats, the attic, dirty squats. He would love to have a house not like Lucy and Greg’s but like Ted and Joan’s or Nick and Ilsa’s, smelling of Robin’s perfume like her flat with Matthew had, warm and, most importantly, neat to no end, even with a child on board. Detective and mystery books filling the shelves, and their kid would have everything Lucy and him hadn’t. Neatness, stability, always the same friends, the same neighbourhood, the same parks, and toys –only the necessary, no need to spoil-, and perhaps even a pet. Robin would surely want a pet and Strike had never had one. Leda could’ve never afforded another mouth to feed.

After dinner, Strike went to shower and when he came back into the bedroom, he was surprised to find Robin sitting at her desk looking at his drawing with tears in her eyes and a smile from ear to ear.

“I know is not very pretty or very big but I wanted to be realistic with what we can afford,” say Strike crutching himself inside. He was already in pyjamas and his damp curls were unrulier than ever. Robin shook her head and grinned at him.

“It’s perfect. It’s our home.”

“No,” Strike flopped on the bed nearer Robin’s chair and pulled the chair closer so he could hold her hands. “You’re home.” Robin gave him an intense look and kissed him deeply. When they separated, one of her hands was entangled in his curls and the other cupping his jaw under the earlobe, while his were on her hips. “I was thinking about what we talked about before and... I don’t want to wait eight years to have a child. I’m going to be super old then, and I’m not going to be able to play with them as much while they’re little and energetic. And I want to play with them. Alright, I’m shit with children and I’ve never played much with any of my nephews but... I don’t want my child to see me as an old fart who lacks half a leg and does nothing but work and drink beer. When Lucy and I were little, since we didn’t have much to entertain ourselves, mum would use her rare free times without work to invent games and play with us. She’d teach us music, and we’d recycle things into toys or necessary objects... And to me, that made up a lot for the fact that we lived in a squat, couldn’t stay around our same friends month after month, and couldn’t afford clean mattresses or have friends come over. I want that, even if my child can have what I never had, I can still spend time with them, make-up games, and have fun. Besides,” Strike shrugged. Robin was giving him one of those weird, intense looks with tears in her eyes and a faint smile, completely unused still to his moments of opening up to her, and to her only. It made her feel special and, seeing his heart, she could only feel more affection to him until it felt like she could burst from it. “Amputees have a lower life expectancy and I’m also ten years older so... I have less time than you to make sure our kiddo remembers their old man as a hella incredible dude. And I want to be the father I dreamed with having when I was little.”

“Right now, I could give you a child any day you wanted,” said Robin sniffling and then kissing him intensely again. This time, they didn’t pull away.

 

 

 


	33. Our future

Near Strike’s birthday, Robin, Lucy and Ilsa went out shopping while Nick took care of the triplets with his parents. She and the triplets had been in the hospital for a week, recovering, and had just been home for a few days, but Ilsa was used to activity and after months of barely moving or doing anything because of her pregnancy, she wanted to get some sun in her pale face, stretch the legs a little, and have some activity. Strike’s birthday fell on a Wednesday, so secretly they came together to plan a dinner for the Saturday afterwards at Nick and Ilsa’s, with his best friends and close relatives, even those coming from Cornwall, and catch him completely by surprise. On the birthday itself, Robin and Alexandra had already planned a lunch at The Tottenham, one of Strike’s favourite places on Earth, then Alexandra would be in therapy for an extra hour so Robin could grace him with birthday sex properly and without a rush, and then Robin would take him for a romantic dinner just the two of them in a Cornish restaurant that was on a rooftop terrace. His presents were bought and Robin had already called his uncle, his aunt, his cousins, his best friends from all over the United Kingdom, and would grace him with the reunion at Nick and Ilsa’s, giving him the chance to see people he hadn’t seen in years. So there they were, Ilsa, Lucy and herself, buying food for such week of activities.

“I’ve got the biggest pressure, after the super birthday he gave me,” was commenting Robin, as she filled her cart with bottle of Doom Bar after another.

“You two have gotten pretty serious, haven’t you?” commented Lucy with a sneaky expression as she examined a bottle of good whisky.

“I think our relationship has become something mature and serious of adults, and we’ve talked and settled down that this is going somewhere and we’re both seriously invested and not just fooling around,” said Robin blushing with a little smile she couldn’t hide.

“Do you mean you talked about marriage?” Ilsa looked surprised. Robin’s harder blush said it all. “With our Cormoran? Are we talking about the same person here?” she chuckled pushing the cart forward.

“Don’t tell me he’s finally going to settle down with children!” Lucy squealed looking hopeful at Robin.

“Well I told them we could have the cliché without being a cliché, make it our own way, you know?” Robin shrugged. “We decided that if we’re risking what we had to be together, it has to be in serious, for something big, not just to sleep together and whatnot. So yes, we agreed that we envision a future with marriage and a house where we can grow old together, we agreed that we’ll continue to be detectives and that our job is a really important part of our lives that won’t be brushed aside, and he even conceded on having one child, perhaps two, as long as we still take care of keeping the other things we love, like our jobs and our trips. He would hate it if married life with a child means sacrificing seventy percent of life’s joys and becoming fully domesticated, he wants to still have adventure and action in his life for as long as his body can handle it.”

“Oh my God,” Lucy grinned as they moved to the meat alley and she looked at Robin, excitedly. “Not in my best dreams I would’ve envisioned my brother truly committing to someone we all adore and accepting marriage and children.”

“He does seem happier than ever,” commented Ilsa, throwing a pack of ham into the cart and, after a second thought, adding another. “Nick says he’s confessed to be really enjoying life as it is, even with Alexandra and all.”

“Yeah,” Robin side smiled. “He’s a wonderful man, he’s always been, and I’m the first one surprised and amazed when I see him fall asleep with Alexandra when she’s feeling unwell, or cook us breakfast, bring flowers for no reason, open-up —“

“Open-up?” Ilsa raised her eyebrows. “Cormoran?”

“Right?” Robin sniggered. “He’s so romantic and sweet in the inside, really. He’s full of gestures and he’s the most attentive. Besides, being a detective means he catches plenty without having to voice it out. He knows when I want a hug or when my period cramps are killing me. And he knows it bothers me when he closes off too much, so he makes an effort, and he’s sincere and he knows there are certain things that to me are very important to talk about. I basically told him if we didn’t want the same things, we shouldn’t be dating, so we sat, discussed the things we want individually, and agreed that being together means we enjoy each other without having to give up on the things we love the most. I won’t demand of him to stop drinking, smoking (even though now he barely smokes because of Al) and watching football, and he won’t demand of me to give up on my dreams and the things I’ve always wanted. And he wins even more points when you compare him to Matthew.”

“What do you mean?” asked Lucy as they went on with their shopping. “I mean, aside from the fact that my brother would never be aggressive on his partner, not even with Charlotte, who deserved it.”

“Well,” Robin sighed. “I guess until I didn’t leave Matthew I didn’t realise how much he was holding me down. He judged me, he rarely encouraged or supported me, he just wanted me to do the things he considered right, and what can you expect from a man who never achieved his dreams? He wanted to be a pilot and wound up being an accountant, for God’s sakes. Just because it was easier, and for the money and the stability. Pilot was too much work, too expensive, too much travelling... he would’ve never understood my passion. And Cormoran, he doesn’t care if I want to do this or that, he supports me either way, he encourages me, he’s a whole person on his own with his own full life and doesn’t need me to complete it, we can just... share our time together. And there’s no judgement,” explained Robin, putting her thoughts out as she threw some things more into the cart. She should’ve realised earlier how much happier she could be with Strike. “He always has positive words for me, and compliments me for no reason, just because it really comes from his heart and he really desires to make me smile or something. He cooks, he irons... and I don’t have to ask, he’s just the kind to think if this needs to be done, and I know how to do it and can do it, then why leave it to someone else? Cormoran just treats me as an equal and not as a servant or a property, and he shows me true love without saying it. Maybe we don’t go to restaurants or fancy things often... but with him, I have just as much of a good time, if not more, snuggled in the Land Rover doing surveillance and eating take-out. Cormoran makes me a better person because he encourages me forward.”

After shopping, they got into Lucy’s car to head back to Ilsa’s. Robin slid in the back seat next to children’s car seats and shopping bags, letting Ilsa in the front so she could be more comfortable, given her state of recovery.

“You should know, Robin,” commented Lucy stopping on a red light. “Our mother’s death anniversary is just three days before Corm’s birthday. I don’t imagine he’s told you?” Robin looked surprised at her profile.

“Yeah I know, though I had forgotten, busy as I was with the planning... shit...” Robin recognised. She wasn’t counting on such a sad day happening right before the celebrations.

“Well, just so you can keep an eye on him, just in case, you know.” Robin nodded, looking through the window. She tried to remember his last birthday. They had been on the middle of Quine’s case and he had busied himself with work. They had had a pint at the Cambridge. Matthew’s mum had died. She didn’t recall having seen Strike any moodier than usual, although she did remember he had knackered his knee around the time, so any extra moodiness would’ve easily been associated with that. And being honest, a year later he was way more of a cheerful man than grumpy, and Robin liked to think it was because of her. It would make it easier to spot it if he was unusually grumpy.

When they arrived at Ilsa’s, Lucy and Robin took care of the weights of bags and Ilsa walked inside the first, opening the door for them. As they walked inside, they heard male laughter and walked into the sitting room, finding Nick and Cormoran sitting together on the sofa, two small bottles of beer on the coffee table and a baby in each pair of arms, the third resting on the sofa, between them, wrapped-up in a blanket.

“Hello ladies!” Nick grinned at them. Ilsa chuckled leaning to kiss him on the lips, a hand caressing Alice’s sleepy face, and then moved to kiss Strike’s cheek.

“Where are our parents?” asked Ilsa, picking-up Theodore from the sofa and kissing the top of his head.

“Well Oggy came around, so I told my parents to show yours something nice in London, because they haven’t left the house in days and were getting pale,” Nick shrugged. “Oggy here is help enough.”

“Heard that?” Strike chuckled at Robin as she came to kiss him. “Look! They gave me a baby!” Robin giggled at his unusual behaviour. “This one’s Morgan, right?” Ilsa nodded. “See, she likes Uncle Corm. She’s been looking at me like that for at least ten minutes.” Robin looked down and saw that indeed, Morgan’s eyes were a little opened and her dark pupils were fixed on her godfather.

“She must be wondering who are you and what have you done with her father,” Nick sniggered joking around and, setting Alice carefully on the sofa, went to organise the shopping into the kitchen, pretending it was all for the house so Strike wouldn’t suspect.

“So, having fun?” asked Robin passing a hand through his curls.

“Yeah,” Strike shrugged, moving to kiss her hand. “They’re just sleeping, and I don’t have to change nappies, so everyone’s happy. And look, there’s beer!” he added with childish enthusiasm, making her giggle. Strike stared at her in awe. “I love your laugh.” He admitted when her giggling stopped. She blushed and kissed him again, as if trying to express how much he meant to her.

“Where’s Ali?” asked Robin after spending a few minutes caressing Morgan and making noises at her while Strike held the baby patiently, amused at her.

“At work,” said Strike. “She’s been doing pretty good, so...”

“Right,” Robin nodded. “Well then we should go to work too, shouldn’t we? Weren’t you going on surveillance?” Strike looked guilty.

“But Robin,” he whispered with an excited expression. “Nick says there’s more beer and chips!” Robin rolled eyes and smiled. She loved her old hungry dinosaur more than she admitted it.

 


	34. Struck by lightning

It was just a boring day at the office. Strike had eight cases on his own at the moment, with Alexandra and Robin’s minimal assistance, and Robin had five herself, with their assistance, also. They were unimportant, meaningless cases, about the typical things; divorces, spying, shitty employees, suspicious partners, cheating, etc. Just another day more at the office, with Strike trying to organise his cases and resolve them all, his desk covered in evidence. Alexandra was at her desk in the outer office organising files herself, and Robin had gone on surveillance. It was already getting dark outside and Strike huffed and leaned back on his chair, staring at his desk as if it had personally offended him, and pulled up his phone.

He was instantly relaxed and almost smitten when his phone’s wallpaper popped up, and it was Robin’s face half-laugh. She so had him wrapped around her finger. Strike didn’t recall having ever drooled so much for any other of his girlfriends, he didn’t like to give them so much power over him, to give himself away so much and be so vulnerable, but with Robin, it was different. It was as if by opening up his walls to him, she just made him stronger. It didn’t mean all his other girlfriends had been trash; they just weren’t meant for him. Robin was his partner, best friend (or one of them), and he loved spending time with her more than with most people, so getting to also kiss her and be hugged and cared for her when they were together getting pissed at a pub was just a plus. The icing on top of the cake.

Strike’s thumb went to his phone gallery and he smiled upon the enormous amount of photographs already collected of Robin and himself. Sometimes he’d take pictures of her pretending he was photographing something else, but he just loved the candid photographs the most, when she was just sleeping, mouth open and drooling on the pillow, or she’d come from jogging, or was driving or hunched over her desk, her brow furrowed as she tried to make sense of a case. As he swiped right to get another photo, instead of Robin, it was Leda who popped up, with her long black hair and her warm smile. Strike smiled sadly, brushing her cheek on the screen with a finger. He had just been at her grave in the morning, alone, before work. What would have the caring, affectionate, children-worshiper Leda, thought of Charlotte? Strike giggled bitterly. She would’ve hated her with all of her guts, like everyone else. She, despite her kindness, would’ve felt disgusted by the way Charlotte mistreated her ‘sweet little boy’ (even when Strike had been nothing little). And what about Robin? Strike grinned. Leda would’ve adored Robin. Even though Strike didn’t care about people’s approval of his choices, he felt warm inside knowing his current life would’ve made Leda very happy.

“Knock knock,” Strike looked up and saw Robin smiling softly at her from the door. He was grateful for her courtesy of noticing he was having a moment and not barging in, even if this was her office too. “Wanna go get drunk?” offered Robin. Strike chuckled.

“You read my mind,” he shoved his phone in his pocket and walked to her, kissing her briefly before following her to the outer office and grabbing his long, gray coat, looking at Alexandra. “Why don’t you go home, Lex? It’s way past six.”

“I’m just feeling so productive...” Alexandra shrugged. “Mind if I sleep up in the attic today? That way I can stay here a bit longer.”

“No problem,” Strike kissed Alexandra’s forehead. “Don’t forget keeping the doors locked. Sleep well.”

“You too, have fun, you lovebirds,” Alexandra chuckled at them. She often called them that for the amusement of the double meaning, since Robin’s name was a bird’s name, and Strike’s was similar to the cormorant bird.

The couple intertwined hands absentmindedly and walked downstairs to the Tottenham, Strike’s favourite pub in all of London.

“Two pints please, an extra large and a small,” said Robin at the bar.

“Lightweight,” Strike chuckled and she smiled as déjà vu hit them both.

“Fetch a table?” suggested Robin. Strike nodded and moved between the tables until he reached the one at the corner and flopped with a sigh, rubbing his chest. Sometimes it still felt like he couldn’t breathe. Four months post surgery and he was eating almost as much as before again, but could stand less time on his leg and his chest felt weird at times, which had pushed him to almost quit smoking, that, and Alexandra’s absolute negation to coming any closer to him or letting him anywhere near their flat if he smoke. Strike knew part of her repugnance came just so he’d take better care of himself after the shooting.

“Yummy,” Strike looked satisfied as Robin put an omelette and chips on the table, as well as the two beers.

“To Leda,” Robin offered raising her pint. Strike side-smiled and nodded, raising his own to touch hers and drink. As they both gulped, Strike stared at the stunning woman sitting in front of him with fondness. She didn’t even need him to say anything to know to cheer for Leda and get him drunk.

“I was just thinking at the office,” said Strike gulping a portion of the omelette they were sharing. Yes, he was sharing his food, but only because it was Robin. “She would’ve despised about eighty five percent of every girlfriend or hook-up I’ve ever had, including Charlotte. But you... she would’ve loved you. Like everyone does. You would’ve probably been her favourite of all things in my life.”

Robin’s lips expanded into a soft smile as her blue-gray eyes lingered in his features. She appreciated the full significance of him telling her such things.

“I’m sure I would’ve loved her too,” murmured Robin, rotating her glass of beer on the table. “She sounds like an interesting woman.” Strike snorted.

“You could call her that,” said Strike. “Lucy gets so pissed off on her failures, sometimes... but these anniversaries are very tough with her. She’ll always feel guilty she left and at the same time, hasn’t quite forgiven her mistakes.”

“And you have?”

Strike crooked his head and half-shrugged.

“Yeah,” he said at last. “Because to me, the good stuff outweighs the mistakes. She was not only a truly kind-hearted, loving woman, but she was also her children’s number one fan. She was devoted to us and caring of us. Yes, she made some mistakes, but all parents do, everyone does, and at least hers were because she didn’t know better, not because she purposely wanted to make our lives harder.”

“That’s right,” Robin nodded. “What matter is she only meant the best.”

“So, you know I lived all around, between squats and in poverty, what about you? How were your childhood and your family like?” asked Strike. He already expected things to be very different and idealistic. “I expect plenty of gymkhanas?” he added teasingly. Robin snorted a laugh as she drank a sip of beer and nodded, and Strike took a forkful of omelette.

“We’re a lot like the Weasleys. I’ve got twelve cousins,” she giggled as Strike’s jaw fell, “and a few of them have children themselves, of all ages, so I’m used to dealing with kids. Only one of my cousins, Elsie, is in my mum’s side, daughter of Uncle Elijah, who works my grandparents farm because they’re kinda old. They live in Masham, near us, and they’re the ones I’m the closest to, with whom I went horse-riding and everything. Elsie just finished vet-school and works the farm too, with the animals. Together, we must have about thirty something awards in horse competitions like gymkhanas,” Robin commented proudly. Strike chuckled and nodded. “And then there’s my father’s side. My grandparents passed away when I was younger, and left three aunts and an uncle, all married and with children. They’re my oldest cousins, so they’re the ones with children themselves, and everyone lives outside Masham, all around north England, mostly different parts of Yorkshire.”

“I see,” Strike nodded, interested. Robin half-smiled, suddenly self-conscious.

“You’ve seen Masham, you know how houses there are like,” continued Robin. “We live in one of those, in the entry of Masham, not deep in the town. It’s big, with huge gardens to run around, and of course there’s my dog, Rowntree. I’ve always lived there, and my mother’s family before us. My life was always around all kinds of animals, helping out at the farm, getting my hands dirty... but I also liked dolls and pink, and princesses,” Strike smiled as she blushed, finding her even more endearing. “It was kind of humble, but we always got the things we needed, and things, with us being four siblings, were a bit of a mess at times, but we always got along, the four of us, even with the typical siblings rivalries and fights. We were used to playing swords, running around open fields, dealing with bugs and insects, horse-riding, playing with the other kids around the church, since there’s a square there... It was nice. To me, it was pretty perfect. Very different from London.”

“It makes sense, with how you are,” said Strike with fondness as he caressed her hand over the table. “So sweet, warm and loving... I never trusted horses much.”

“Oh, really?” Robin snorted, looking at him all endeared. “I told you my uncle’s horse...”

“...Clydesdale.” Robin nodded, pleased at his good memory.

“We should go riding together in Masham one day. I could teach you.” Strike giggled.

“You know? I might let you. Hey and what about Stephen, I thought his wedding was last month? I completely forgot.”

“Well, after Matthew hit me, they decided to postpone it,” commented Robin. “Since it’s in the same church as I got married, they had the possibility. It’ll be next week instead, so I’ll have to drive up for a few days. I’m maid of honour and am supposed to be helping around. That reminds me, I thought you and Alexandra should come over. I asked Stephen and he says it’s fine, you’ll take Matthew’s place as my plus one and they’ll put an extra plate for Al. I explained to him that Al’s health is a bit delicate at the moment and we wouldn’t want to leave her alone here. And since Stephen and his future wife will be staying at a hotel, Alexandra can take Stephen’s room.”

“Do your parents know we’re...?” asked Strike, curious.

“Oh, yes, they’re absolutely thrilled. You know, they’re still cautious and prudent and asked me to be too, as they’re still sensitive to seeing me with other men in case they turn out like Matthew,” Robin explained. “But they know you and my mum is quite a fan of you, they know you’re different. No one in my family really ever liked Matthew that much, if it had been up to them, I would’ve never married him. But with you they’re so excited is actually weird.” She giggled a little and Strike smiled, squeezing her hand softly.

“So I’ll be sleeping with you?”

“Indeed,” Robin raised her eyebrows.

“Then I can’t really refuse,” Robin giggled and Strike chuckled. “I’m sure Lex will be thrilled too, I mean, free food, where do we have to sign?” he added jokingly, making her laugh.

Later that night, after they had gotten completely drunk and were snuggled in Robin’s bed, after sex, while it rained outside, Strike surrounded Robin’s with his arms tighter and searched for her lips, kissing her softly. Then as he looked at her sleepy face, he smiled, caressing her cheek.

“I know it’s rather extremely soon in our relationship, and I don’t ever do this, but... I really do love you, Robin. And based on our year-and-a-half long friendship prior relationship, which again I’ve never had... I think it’s not so wild to tell you how much I really do love you,” he murmured caressing her face. She bit her lip softly, blushing, and kissed him.

“I think I love you too,” Robin was satisfied to see he didn’t seem offended by her uncertainty, nor teased her for something more affirmative, simply kissed her and snuggled closer, sighing content as he let himself relax in her embrace.

“Lighting really struck me with you,” he murmured in the darkness suddenly after a while, when Robin already thought him asleep.

Closing her eyes against his chest, Robin grinned.

 

 

 


	35. Wholeheartedly

Letting a long breath out, Strike threw his head back against the towel. First thing in his birthday morning had been his favourite breakfast in the world; full English with extra bacon and his favourite creosote tea. But the second thing was a surprise bath. He didn’t usually take baths, even though they came excellent for his leg, and he never prepared them as well. In fact, he had never taken a bath like the one he was in at the moment.

There was foam and rose petals floating on the water, candles lit all around the dark bathroom, giving it a Lavender smell soft enough that he fancied, the water was warm still, and soft music played in the background. Robin had joined him, fucked him, washed his hair massaging his scalp to the point of putting him in almost a coma state, massaged his shoulders and back, and now had left him to relax on his own for a little longer while she got ready for the day ahead. Strike had never been in such a groggy, relaxed state, in all the days of his lifetime, he was sure.

“Sweetheart?” Robin knocked on the door. She was being particularly sweet that day. “Are you still alive?” she asked, and he could almost hear her laugh.

“I’m getting out before that answer becomes no,” Strike answered, reluctantly moving to exit the bathtub. He heard Robin giggle and walk away.

Once he was fully dressed in clothes that felt warm because Robin had re-ironed them while he was bathing ‘because it looks like a cold, rainy day, isn’t it?’ he felt attached to his girlfriend like a pendrive to a computer, never said better. He couldn’t keep his arms off her from how grateful he was, and the morning at work seemed particularly extenuating, so when Robin cut it short at twelve announcing they had plans for lunch, he was eager to go.

Strike, Alexandra and Robin went then to the Tottenham, and Strike was stunned seeing they had reserved it for themselves for an hour, and the waiter had been ordered to keep bringing beer to the table for five rounds, so Strike ate all his favourites and got a little tipsy, and then the waiter brought a cake Robin and Alexandra had made behind his back, of Strike’s favourite taste, with thirty-seven lightened candles. Strike happily blew the candles and then gifs followed; a black jacket that said ‘Detective Superdad’ on the chest from Alexandra, as a kind of joke present that Strike intended to wear nevertheless, and that made him laugh, along with a new, fancy watch, since he had had to sold his, and, as another joke present, a drawing childish style of him and her ‘because you should’ve had a collection of these by now’. Then Robin, even though she had already gifted him the breakfast, the bathtub, the whole Tottenham surprise, and the sex Strike knew would come later, presented him with a CD playlist, because she knew Strike was an old-fashioned guy of the kind that made discs with his favourite songs for his conquests, followed by tickets to a Blue Öyster Cult concert in Liverpool right before the wedding of her brother, a romantic love letter, and a ‘secret gift’ that would come later and, surprise, wasn’t sex. 

So later in the evening, while Alexandra was in therapy, Robin instructed Strike to get on the bed, nude, for his surprise present, and face down on the mattress. Raising eyebrows, Strike obeyed, removing his prosthesis and seeing Robin had put a huge towel they didn’t know they had covering Robin’s bed, so he got on top, and rolled to be face down. A moment later, Robin came in, lighted candles on around the room and turned the lights off.

“Ready for your present, Mr. Strike?” Robin asked seductively. Strike smiled, trying to see her.

“Born ready.”

Robin smirked and dropped massage oil all over his back and then started massaging him using everything, massage tools, hands, elbows, and even knees, carefully. Strike groaned closing his eyes and thanking all heavens, and Robin proceeded. Ten minutes for his back and shoulders, then neck, head, arms, hands, legs, stump (Strike would’ve worried about it if he hadn’t been drooling by then) and foot.

“Now please turn around,” instructed Robin when she was finished. 

Strike moaned and needed her help to turn around because he was bloody sleepy after that. When he turned around, his jaw dropped. Robin was standing there wearing nothing but black lingerie, with her hair in a semi bum, the locks that were loose all curled, red lipstick, and a smug smile at seeing his immediate reaction in his groin, as it got semi hard. Strike’s throat was dry.

“Holly mother of God...” murmured Strike.

“I won’t tie you up because I know you’d freak out, but if you touch me everything stops and we go watch TV,” threatened Robin. Strike gulped and nodded.

“Yes, madam,” Robin chuckled and, like a panther, crawled on top of him and kissed him intensely, their tongues meeting, for a moment, before abruptly pulling away. 

Then she went and massaged his legs and arms, then his face, and then her hands lowered massaging his chest and belly over the scars, as she crawled on the bed with her cunt suspended over Strike’s face, tempting him. Strike could even smell her and see she was wet, she could even see it through see-through parts of the lingerie. Robin’s hands then found his crotch and started massaging him there too, until he was fully hard. Then, Strike blew against her cunt and she shuddered.

“Cormoran!”

“I didn’t touch you!” said Strike, sneakily.

“Well then,” Robin crawled back and gave him and intense kiss upside-down, her hands cradling his face. He moaned against her lips and felt her smile against his lips before pulling away. “In such case, you better touch.” She removed her panties and sat on his face. “Happy birthday, love.”

Robin didn’t like to perform oral, and Strike respected it and didn’t mind. He understood her reasoning; you don’t need it and besides, what’s better than my cunt? So he didn’t care and never tried to force her. However, Strike, for some reason unknown to Robin, loved performing oral on her. He said she truly tasted nicely –Robin scowled- and that he liked knowing in her case, it would make the big dish nicer. And Strike had such a talented mouth, and hands, and everything, Robin felt like the lucky one every single time. After that, it was only a matter of time before Robin lowered herself on him.

And if that wasn’t enough, once dinner time came and Alexandra was home again, Robin presented steak and pasta –Strike’s two favourites- along with a ‘golden edition’ of Doom Bar for the birthday boy, and by the time Strike went to bed he had the biggest grin in his face and he couldn’t even help it.

“You gave me everything I wanted and then more,” he said like a happy, excited child, hugging Robin in bed at bedtime. Robin grinned, caressing his face. “I feel like ten years younger instead of older. God, I love you.” Robin giggled and kissed him.

“So you had fun? Really?”

“Really.”

“Even if we didn’t see your friends?”

“Who wants friends when there’s steak the way you like it and a Robin Ellacott in lingerie massaging you? I haven’t had a massage in years, you know? Because...”

“...You hate the sanitary loincloth, having strangers touching you, lying somewhere you don’t know what has laid on before, and the sense of vulnerability from being all naked in front of strangers,” finished Robin. Strike grinned. “I know, that’s why I choose this way instead. Initially I was going to invite you to a spa.”

“God, I truly, wholeheartedly, love you,” Strike said kissing her again. He didn’t care how meaningful his words were, making her blush, but he truly felt big inside. “This was the most perfect birthday. Thank you.”

“I was only trying to make it half as good as you made mine,” Robin kissed him again. “I love you, my giant ogre. And...” she caressed his lips with one thumb. “We are seeing your friends. At least Nick and Ilsa, we’re going to their place for dinner on Saturday, they’re still on parental leaves and if we don’t visit them they might go Berserk.” She giggled while saying the last thing and Strike snorted a laugh.

“I’m serious, in another day I must’ve saved the world, because otherwise I don’t know what I did to deserve you.”

“Well,” Robin shrugged. “You saved me, if that counts.” Strike grinned.

“You too. C’me here, you deserve an award for today...” and Strike kissed her back, with all of himself.

 

 

 


	36. Birthday boy!

Saturday started off great with some work, and then in the afternoon Alexandra and Robin said they had to go do some shopping for dinner to bring something to Nick and Ilsa’s at night, and they were also going to take advantage and see some ‘girl products’, such as make-up and things Strike would much rather not think about, so since there was casually an Arsenal game in the afternoon, the girls proposed that he stayed in his attic to watch it surrounded by one of his dearest friends: Mr. Bar, Doom Bar. That way he could also rest his leg, and the girls could help organise things for the night at the Herberts without him knowing, so everybody won.

And then, in the evening, Robin told him to dress up a little for dinner.

“Why? Is just Nick and Ilsa. They’ll probably have baby poo on top...” murmured Strike standing in the kitchen.

“Just put a normal suit, no tie. It’s a birthday dinner, not just any, and Nick and Ilsa have worked so hard for it, why don’t we show up looking all nice and pretty? I mean, more than regularly,” Robin kissed him, knowing she had won the argument before it was even a discussion. “Besides, suits make you extra sexy, show up your broad, nice shoulders...” she raised eyebrows suggestively. “And I may compensate later?” Strike gulped.

“You think the dark suit will do?” he was already going for it, and Robin giggled. She had him so wrapped around her finger.

The three of them arrived at the dinner with perfect timing. Unbeknownst to Strike, Alexandra had texted Ilsa right as they were three minutes from arrival so they got on position for the surprise waiting for Strike. Robin smiled warmly at Strike as they held hands crossing the road from where the car was parked to the door and he was talking about the match he had seen that day Arsenal vs Manchester United. Alexandra, who found sports deeply boring (other than martial arts), couldn’t understand how Robin was actually interested in the topic, chiming in to make questions and learn the names of the players, but she let them lead the way and Robin pressed her finger against the doorbell.

“I could just open with my key,” suggested Strike. Robin kept his hand in hers, away from his pocket.

“Don’t be rude, they’re home with the babies, what if you catch Ilsa boobs out?” Robin chastised. Truth be told, she just didn’t want for Strike to ruin the surprise. Strike shrugged.

“I’ve shared more showers with Ilsa in my whole life than with you. I’ve seen all there is to see.” The comment made Alexandra frown and Robin look surprised.

“I thought you two never slept together?”

“Right, but we were raised like siblings. Besides, bathing naked on the beach was a big thing in St. Mawes in the early 90s between teenagers.”

The door opened and Ilsa appeared. She looked somewhat tired but beaming, with her glasses on, her fair hair loose and a nice blue dress.

“Happy birthday big boy!” mocked Ilsa hugging Strike, who chuckled.

“You look really nice,” said Strike, surprised at the elegancy.

“Well it’s my best friend’s birthday dinner, and the big 37 no less.”

“God, don’t make it as if it was forty already...”

The girls hugged too and came inside.

“Wait, I think Nick fell asleep in the sitting room with one of the girls...” Ilsa stopped Strike before he could entry the sitting room, that looked dark through the glass doors, and she peeked inside. “Okay, all ready, come in...” she moved aside, turned the light on, and suddenly a big ‘SURPRISE!’ resonated in the room and a bunch of faces appeared. Cormoran’s jaw dropped.

There were Nick and his parents, Ilsa’s parents, who had come for a few weeks to help them around; Ted, Joan, Strike’s cousins, Lucy, Greg; and then a bunch of old friends from Cornwall, and Dave, and his wife, and a bunch of close friends from all parts of London with their partners, and then friends from the SIB that Strike had absolutely zero idea how they had contacted, but that had been all Robin’s work. She had felt only slightly guilty of investigating Strike behind his back.

Ten minutes later there was laughter filling the room, Robin and Alexandra were getting to know the family, and all introductions had been made. Nick and Ilsa had opened wide the big doors that connected with the garden so the over twenty guests didn’t feel too claustrophobic, all surfaces were filled with food and drinks to peck about, and people formed small groups talking and laughing, filling the sofas and chairs or standing around. There were all kinds of colourful birthday decorations and after an hour, Ilsa brought in a cake and a bunch of presents and they sang and Strike opened them all. He felt drunk, most of those people he hadn’t seen in years, and just like the friendships had easily relinked with Strike’s comings and goings in his youth, so they did again this time. Strike had by then picked up that Robin had orchestrated it all and felt ridiculously touched, not to mention the gesture that was that two recently made parents of triplets no less, exhausted as they were and with the newborns in the house, had offered to host such a big party. Charlotte had always disliked everyone in his life and tried to push them away, but Robin recognised their value and signalled she wanted them close to her boyfriend.

At some point, Strike ventured upstairs looking for the bigger bathroom so he could comfortably manage with his prosthesis, and went for a pee. As he left the bathroom, he heard soft singing and he followed it to the master bedroom. Ilsa was there breastfeeding the children in turns, while the babies who weren’t being attended lied around her on the bed, dozing off.

“How are my favourite godchildren?” asked Strike peeking into the room, whispering.

“Don’t let the others hear that,” Ilsa chuckled. She wasn’t shy at all about her breasts being on display with him, signalling just how deep and long their friendship was. Thirty-something years were said quickly. “They’re good, just a little hungry...” Alice had fallen asleep in her arms, so she zipped up her dress and put the baby inside her cot, doing the same with the others. Strike helped taking one of the babies at random, that turned out to be Theo, if he was right.

“Well, thank you for all of this. We’ll cut short before someone starts drunk-yelling and wakes these up,” commented Strike. Ilsa shook her head, adjusting the camera to look at the babies and grabbing the baby monitor as they left the room and she left the door crooked.

“Nonsense,” said Ilsa then. “This is your day, and we’re having too much fun, I’m not rushing anyone out. Besides, you saw how up here the sound from downstairs is minimal, the kids will be fine. Nothing wakes them up.”

“Do you think Robin is having a good time?” asked Strike as they walked downstairs and he eyed Robin and Alexandra laughing with some military friends of Strike.

“She looks like it,” replied Ilsa, then stopped and smirked at him. “Relax, Oggy... She’s not Charlotte. She loves us and, speaking for everyone... I think we all kind of love her.”

A couple hours and a half later, it was a good time to start leaving, and Robin was in charge of putting the bags of presents into the Land Rover while Strike bid farewell to all his friends as they got into their own cars around the street. They were hugs, promises to stay in touch, emails and phones exchanged, and grins here and there. Everyone had had a good time.

Strike, as usual, put Alexandra down to bed because even though she would be twenty in less than a year, it had become their little routine and also a good moment for them to have some alone father-daughter time, discuss the day, the joys and flaws, Alexandra’s health and anything that came to their minds. As he slid back into bed alongside Robin, who was already dozing off, he wrapped his strong arms around her and kissed her cheek.

“Thank you,” he whispered. “This was the best birthday party I’ve ever had.” Robin chuckled and pulled him closer.

“I’m glad you had a good time. You’ve got quite fun friends, and interesting ones. And your cousins are wonderful.”

“You truly like them?!”

“Obviously, don’t you?” Strike looked at Robin full of surprise.

“I-Yes, I agree with you I just...” a smile appeared in Strike’s face. “I wasn’t expecting for you to like them as much. Charlotte hated them all.”

“Then I think Charlotte was a little brainless,” Robin pressed herself against him and kissed him softly. “I couldn’t be happier. I just hope you and Ali like my people as much next week.” Strike nodded.

“If they’re a quarter of you... they’ve already won me over.” Strike kissed her briefly. He felt the happiest man alive.

 

 

 


	37. Ellacotts

**Chapter 37:**

The Blue Öyster Cult concert was a good way to start their one week of holiday for Stephen Ellacott’s wedding to Debbie. The trio got to explore Liverpool a little bit and the next day they continued the shorter drive to Masham, North Yorkshire. After the over four hours it had taken them to get to Liverpool, the remaining two and a bit to Yorkshire didn’t seem that big of a deal.

“So according to _buzzfeed_ ,” said Alexandra leaning between the front seats with her mobile. “Yorkshire is home to 30+ real ale breweries, producing enough ales between them to give you a different pint each night for at least six months.”

“Uh, I like you a little further now,” Strike chuckled, pinching Robin’s cheek happily. She snorted a laugh.

“And Ripon is the UK’s oldest city, has existed since the 800’s,” added Alexandra, reading from her phone. “Your town is in Ripon, right Robs?”

“Indeed,” Robin nodded, satisfied.

“So it’s not weird that she likes old things,” murmured Strike raising an eyebrow to Alexandra, who giggled. “Now if you look to your left Alexandra, that’s Leeds over there!” Alexandra whistled in admiration.

“Hey Robin,” asked Alexandra then. “How should we address your family? Mr and Mrs Ellacott?”

“They feel old when you do that,” replied Robin. “They prefer names. My parents are Michael and Linda, the groom is Stephen, his bride is Debbie, then there’s my brother Martin, and the youngest, Jon, just finished University a few months ago and he’s only a couple years older than you, so don’t be surprised if he tries flirting.”

“Aww, shame I’m gay,” Alexandra smiled and shrugged.

“How weird would it be,” commented Strike, throwing a biscuit of the ones Robin always packed for trips into his mouth, “if my daughter became my sister-in-law?”

Robin and Alexandra both grimaced and he giggled, munching the biscuit, as Robin continued driving through the long roads between lengths and lengths of green. Eventually, Robin turned into a square and a big house that kept a wild vibe, with plants climbing up the façade, came into view. Robin was just parking when the door of the house opened wide and Linda, Michael, Martin and Jon came running. Hugs and greetings were done and they moved inside the house.

Soon, Alexandra, Martin and Jon started getting along and decided to go into town and get to know it all a little, and Strike went for a fag to the back garden, that extended beyond what eyes could see. He was halfway through his cigarette when Michael came outside.

“Hey,” Michael saluted with a smile. Strike waved. “So, enjoying the free air?” he asked with a smirk.

“Indeed,” Strike squashed his fag against the floor and, self-conscious that it was the Ellacott’s property, picked it up and threw it inside a huge compost bin that was nearby. “How’s it going, Michael?” he added cheerfully looking at the round-faced man, with a head covered of short, dark-redhead hair, almost brown, with some areas going white.

“All good, nothing much ever happens up here,” Michael shrugged. “So you’re dating my daughter now, aren’t you?” Strike nodded cautiously. “I like you, Cormoran,” said Michael, approaching Strike closer and looked at him with seriousness. “I think you’re the right man to be with her. And I’ve never done this thing of threatening a boyfriend of hers, not that there’s been any but Matthew, but, given the last months’ events...” he sighed and almost glared at Strike. “If you harm my daughter in any way, even if it’s just slightly, I will haunt you down like if you were a deer, and I will shoot you down. Am I being clear?” Strike blinked several times, taken aback, but then nodded.

“Sure,” said Strike. “Michael I...,” he sighed. “I would do the same if anyone put a finger on her. Right after she finished them off, that is. You raised a fierce woman, after all.” Michael nodded.

“I take pride in that,” said Michael, then smiled a little. “I’m just sick of things happening to her, you know? When she was here, she was fine, all good. Then she goes to St. Andrews and she gets attacked and...” he shuddered and scowled, looking at the horizon. “And then she goes to London and a serial killer attacks her and then just a bit later her own husband... it seems like it doesn’t stop. One day is this, the next is that, you know? And now you have a daughter. You have to understand...”

“I do,” Strike assured vehemently. The sole idea of something happening to Alexandra and even to Robin made his insides cringe. “I know this year I’ve allowed for far too much to happen to her. I know things have gotten out of hand. But Michael, I love your daughter,” Michael looked at him, surprised. “I really do love her. She’s one of the most important persons in my life, and I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to her. Gee, if someone hurt my own daughter... I’d probably break their face. But I can’t promise you bad things won’t come up, because that’s how life is.”

“I know,” Michael nodded. “I know.”

“What I can promise you is that when they do come, we’ll be ready. Robin won’t ever be alone. Even if we broke-up... I’d always look after her, for the rest of my life. I’ll always be there.” Michael looked at him and smiled a little, nodding his head with satisfaction.

“That’s all I ask.”

“Dad, Cormoran?” Robin peeked outside from the door. “Dinner’s ready.”

As the men walked inside past her, Robin grabbed Strike’s arm, pulling him to her and waiting until Michael was out of sight.

“What happened, was he being rude or something?” she asked, concerned.

“Your father?” Strike frowned and shook his head. “Absolutely not, nothing. We were just talking, nothing big. He’s a sympathetic guy. Nice.” Robin smiled and kissed his cheek.

“Are you having a good time? I’m sorry if it’s a little boring...”

“Babe,” Strike side smiled, caressing her cheek. “This place is nice, beautiful and relaxing. Everything is perfect, I could never be bored. Besides, you’re here, what else can I ask for?” Robin grinned and accepted his kiss before following him inside.

Strike and Robin set the table while Michael helped Linda bring all the food to the table. The boys and Alexandra had called letting them know they’d be having dinner at the Bay Horse, the pub they frequently visited, where they had been joined by other friends. Alexandra seemed so happy and excited on the phone, and Strike knew he didn’t have many friends in London and hadn’t gone out in forever, so after reminding her to come back the second she felt any weirder, and after Robin discreetly told Martin on the phone that Alexandra was still convalescent and ordered him to keep an eye on her and be responsible of her, they agreed it was okay for her to stay. She was still under 21, but no one seemed to care. Stephen and Debbie joined them at dinner.

Stephen was tall and thin, with muscled arms and beard, and his hair was darker, like his father, while his eyes were as blue-gray as Robin’s and Linda’s. He was two years older than Robin, for what Strike knew, and eight older than their youngest sibling, Jonathan, and it was obvious he was more mature and grown-up. Debbie was a young, cheerful blonde with brown eyes and very polite.

“I saw the boys at the pub with their friends and Alexandra,” Stephen commented as they ate, and looked at Strike. “They’re all getting along quick, aren’t they? You should know my brother Martin can be a bit too... forward, with the flirting. More than Jon.” He added with a little smile.

“Ah, that’s fine,” Strike shrugged. “Lexie is very good at defending herself if necessary, and I’m glad she’s having some fun for once, she’s always too good and responsible to let her hair down every now and then.”

“Is she feeling better?” Linda asked motherly. “Robin told us she was ill.”

“Yes, thanks,” replied Strike while cutting his knife. “Alexandra has...” he stopped, reflecting on whether it was correct of him to tell. Then again, if anything happened to her and he and Robin weren’t around, he wanted for someone to be able to help her. “She’s been diagnosed with schizoaffective disorder, recently. The symptoms are a little of schizophrenia and a little of depression. So far, she’s only been dealing with hallucinations and brutal headaches, and she’s on medication, but we’re always keeping our eyes on her just in case, because since it’s all very recent, the meds go changing until the dose is right. For example, they weren’t very right at first, so she still had some hallucinations and one time that led to her almost...” he took a breath and crooked his head, staring at his steak. “She almost threw herself through the window. She had no idea what she was doing.”

“That’s why she doesn’t get to go party too often,” added Robin, giving a hand, as a manner of speaking. “It’s good that she’s with people almost her age, doing something other than working with us all the time.”

“Poor thing, that’s terrible,” Michael frowned. “Well is she okay now? I can call Martin and...”

“I already warned him to keep an eye,” said Robin. “She should be fine. She’s been perfectly fine for weeks now, the meds seem right this time.”

“Yeah,” Strike nodded. “My best friend is a doctor anyways, so I’ve got someone to call if anything. He’s a gastroenterologist, but inside his studies and formation he had to do a bit of everything and he’s also a very curious man, always studying things of other specialties just because he likes it, so we trust him.”

“Oh, Nick, right?” Linda looked at his daughter for confirmation and Strike knew she was this brand of mother who learns with pride all of her children’s friends and likes to know who are the ones that make them happy. Robin nodded.

“We’re happy to have you all at our wedding,” commented Debbie, sympathetically. “Robin’s told us a lot about how happy she’s with her job and we’ve seen on the news all about the people you’ve caught together. You’re all practically family too, so...” she smiled. Strike nodded.

“Thanks, Debbie. We’re very happy to be here too. Alexandra and I are pure southern and we’ve hardly seen the north. She’s never even stepped in Yorkshire before, so it’s always nice to expand horizons a little. And you’ve all been so kind with us, one can’t help but never want to leave,” he smiled gratefully and Linda giggled.

“Robin’s loved ones are our loved ones,” Linda sentenced. “And you’re always welcomed here.”

“Besides, nothing like the countryside to help people feel better right away, uh?” added Michael enthusiastic. “Well, son, we should toast for that wedding, shall we?”

As Robin snuggled into her old bed that night, she found Strike and wrapped her arms around him tightly. No matter what, the house was always a little too cold for her liking, ever since she had gone to London. Now, everyone was back in bed and the rain was hitting the windows as if it wanted to pass through.

“Are you asleep?” Robin whispered climbing on top of him for comfort. She wasn’t usually clingy when it came to Matthew, she had always liked to have her own space in bed, probably due to her traumas, but with Strike the bed seemed too big and she felt drawn to him. Strike didn’t open his eyes.

“...smot...” murmured Strike, moving his head towards her. Robin smiled, caressing his beard.

“What did you just say, Cormoran?”

“Almost,” replied Strike, making an effort for his mouth to work.

“Okay,” Robin pecked his lips. “Sweet dreams. I was just checking on Alexandra, and she truly had a great time. She also says Stephen’s old bedroom is perfect.” Strike nodded, putting an arm around her and nuzzling against her hair. Robin thought of that as ‘the teddy bear move’, as it was the typical thing little children did with their teddy bears during bedtime, and she closed her eyes.

In the morning, everything was hectic as they prepared for the wedding, taking place that day. Strike had only been given a line of dress-code days before the wedding, by Robin: ‘dark green tie and your best suit’. Strike had seen the green dress in Robin’s suitcase as they packed, so as he got himself ready, he was all smug knowing what he was going to see.

“Lookin’ nice dad,” Alexandra entered the room in a burgundy long dress, her lips red as well.

“You too,” said Strike looking at her. “Hoping to impress someone?” he added, raising an eyebrow. Alexandra rolled eyes.

“I just like looking smoking hot.”

“Woah,” Strike chuckled, tying up his tie. “You sure have a good self-esteem.”

“’Course, Dad. Everyone should,” Alexandra shrugged and then whistled as Robin came out of the bathroom behind Strike. “Robin, you look stunning!” Strike turned around and his eyebrows rose to his hairline, his lips parting as he struggled to make a coherent thought.

Robin was indeed wearing the Vashti green dress he had bought her a year before and that still fit her like it was made for her. Her hair was loose for a change, and she had a beautiful necklace and silver bracelet on. She looked simple but gorgeous, not overdone at all.

“I’ve been wanting to wear this dress for the longest time,” Robin smiled, blushing a little as they looked at her. Strike shook his head.

“That dress is lucky to have you to make it prettier,” said Strike. He then giggled, looking at her. “God Robin, I feel like a horny teenager next to you, love. You look absolutely splendid, more so than usual.” He dared to say. Robin blushing harder and beamed.

“You’re also very handsome,” Robin smoothed his suit and pecked his lips. “I’m so lucky...”

“You two, get a room,” murmured Alexandra with a side smile.

“We have one, you’re just intruding,” argued Strike. Alexandra rolled eyes and left the room with a giggle, and they heard her tell Jon not to come in because the lovebirds were ‘at it again’.

“Let’s get going before my entire family is convinced we’re having sex while my brother gets married,” murmured Robin grabbing his hand and guiding him outside. Strike, drunk on her perfume, followed with a smug grin.

St. Mary’s church brought painful memories and Strike felt Robin’s discomfort as she tried to avoid looking at the newlyweds and focused more on the ceiling of the church during the ceremony. Strike, sitting between Alexandra and Robin, put an arm around his girlfriend and squeezed her gently. She looked up at him and forced a reassuring smile, and Strike shook his head.

“This is the place where I saw you smile at me, and only at me, the biggest, for the first time in my life. I knew right then, that I’d do anything as long as you’d stay in my life,” whispered Strike into her ear. “Right here, I swore I’d fight for you to stay with all I had. It’s not a bad place. Is the place where miracles, such as me realising how special you are, happen.” Robin looked at him with tearful eyes and this time, her smile was honest.

After the ceremony, the usual family pictures were taken and then they all went to the reception. Strike and Alexandra had been given seats in the main table, so Strike sat next to Robin and, speeches over, they enjoyed a nice lunch. It was all at a castle in Yorkshire, so it was pretty fancy. When the time came for dancing, Strike was shy to ask Robin to dance with him, since they had never danced in the course of their relationship, and when Jon asked Alexandra out for a dance, she gave her father a look of ‘ask her NOW’ and Strike moved to Robin.

“Uh, Robin, would you like us to dance?” he asked blushing. Robin grinned and nodded, taking his hand and abandoning her wine to go to the dance floor. 

Beaming, Robin put her arms around his neck and pressed their foreheads together as he smiled down at her, putting his arms around her hips.

“You look so handsome,” murmured Robin. “I’m so happy you’re here. Otherwise, this wouldn’t be fun at all.” Strike pressed his lips against her forehead.

“I’m so bloody lucky,” Strike snorted as they swirled. “I thought I couldn’t get luckier than dating Charlotte, who, despite absolutely crazy and with a heart as cold as the damned North Pole, was stunningly beautiful, and then you come around,” he giggled. “It’s just so funny. Damn bastard me, that’s what everybody must be thinking. Get Charlotte and then the wonderful Robin Ellacott, who’s perfect in all possible ways and with whom I can’t even compare. I’m such a lucky, lucky bastard, really. I don’t know what kind of heroic act I must’ve committed to deserve the most wonderful person in the world.” Robin giggled with him, and nuzzled their noses together.

“You’re so silly,” commented Robin. “I’m not that perfect. I’m very flawed.”

“Of course you are,” Strike shrugged. “But that’s precisely why you’re perfect,” Robin looked surprised at him, and endeared. “You’re beautiful, kind, funny, caring, empathetic, disciplined, respectful, loyal, loving, sweet, warm, brave, intelligent, strong, hardworking... but you can also be cold, dry, sad, stubborn, rebellious, hard, complicated, egocentric, thoughtless, incautious... and that’s perfect. If you took one thing out then, you wouldn’t be half as incredible as you are. I couldn’t love you as much if you didn’t drive me a little nuts sometimes, if you didn’t steal all the sheets, and if you weren’t such a lightweight, because then you wouldn’t be 100% Robin Ellacott. And I don’t want a half person, I want your all, with everything there is.” Robin couldn’t figure out what to say to that, but she felt so moved, so touched, that suddenly she was just overly emotional, so she cupped his face between her soft hands and she kissed him deeply.

Here was a man who respected her and who wanted her to be unapologetically herself, with all the implications of it, good and bad. Someone who didn’t wish for her to be any more this or any less that. A complete opposite from the man she thought she’d spend her whole life with, something she didn’t know she was looking for, and something she had never had, and it meant so much for her. Robin tried to let him know in one kiss how much it all meant for her, even more, how much it meant that she knew that he fully meant every single word. How much she loved him and how much of a big deal he was for her. Words could never express that much, so she tried for her lips to do so, just in a different manner. With the softness and warmth of her mouth against his, with the way her hands so caringly caressed his face and hair.

“You will always be safe with me,” Robin said at last, in a bare whisper, when they separated to breathe.

“I know,” Strike murmured, not understanding what that was for.

“No, I mean it,” Robin smiled at his confused face. “Even if we break up. I’m not going to be someone you ever have to dread seeing. I won’t throw things at you, nor make you bleed with hate. And I won’t make you feel not good enough, because you are more than good enough. I won’t be someone deserving of nicknames from your friends such as lady Berserko. I won’t ever try to hurt you on purpose just because things are not happening the way I’d want them to. I refuse to be that person. I refuse to fall so low I become another Charlotte. So you’ll always be safe. Safe to tell me in infuriating knowing I won’t hit you, safe to tell me you disagree knowing I won’t storm out, safe in all the ways someone can be safe.”

This time it was Strike who had no words, he just looked at her stunned, in disbelief, as if she had just told him the Earth is plane and she is in truth a ghost. He couldn’t believe his ears. So he hugged her tightly, never minding if the music had changed to something more active and people needed space to go wild, and prayed that if she could just feel the way his heart was beating against hers, she’d understand how much he was feeling for her. And damn, she did.

 

 

 


	38. Paternal anxiety

**Chapter 38:**

A couple days later, Robin’s farmer uncle, Elijah, encouraged them to visit the farm of Robin’s maternal family, that would one day belong to Cousin Elsie, given that all of Robin’s siblings and herself had rejected the farm life that Elsie embraced. Up in the North, Ure River led to the farm and horse riding academy where the family all lived. The farm itself was small, with a big house, then chickens, sheep and cows. The animals were never killed because they were family and all had names, but the family used their products; eggs, wool and milk, and usually sold the wool and half the milk and eggs they collected. Not all eggs were taken out either, depending on the current amount of chickens, since even now and then, age killed one. 

There were large fields of vegetables, which constituted their biggest amount of income, as Grandpa Neil enthusiastically explained Strike as he proudly showed all his fields, and then there was the annexed horse-riding academy, managed mostly by Aunt Meredith –Mer for short- and Elsie. They had ten adult horses and then some young ones, and their food was all farm-made. The fields for the horses to run were so big it was impossible to see them all from one corner to the other at simple glance. As all the animals were family, so were the few employees they had, only enough to never be too full of work. Elsie was only a couple years younger than Robin, was studying to become a vet, and once she was, she’d work at that in the farm, with the vets that already worked there.

“Have more, Cormoran, darling,” Grandma Freya encouraged filling Strike’s plate for the third time. Strike was already full, but gluttony kept him from refusing. Since all the food was made with at least 80% of products all natural from the farm, the food was some of the best Strike had ever tried, and he thanked with the mouth full while Robin giggled. Even the pasta was made at the farm, with their own wheat. “That’s a good boy. You’re so big and strong, like our horses.” Freya smiled warmly at Cormoran, with her white hair, once as strawberry-blonde as Robin’s, loose and curly, and her blue eyes full of kindness.

“D’ishious, Fre’a,” said Strike while munching.

“Robin, love, why don’t you bring your boyfriend our Spanish chorizo, uh?” Elijah offered. “We were in Spain on holiday just a few days ago, before the wedding.” Added, looking at Strike, who nodded. Robin got up and came back with it, cutting a piece for Strike and giggling as his eyes rolled back with the taste.

“Jesus...” murmured Strike, gulping. “Robin, why didn’t you tell me your family were so good with food? I would’ve pressured you to bring me months ago.”

“Yeah, sure,” Robin chuckled. “One hour and we’ll have to roll you out of the room.” But Strike didn’t care; he had just had a taste of the vegetable lasagne. “Woah, you’re going to make him start loving vegetables!” They laughed and Strike looked at them smiling satisfied with the lips full of béchamel sauce and the cheeks swollen. “My little squirrel,” Robin pecked his lips, tasting the béchamel, and hummed.

“So, Cormoran, boy,” commented old Neil as Strike gulped. They were all sitting around the table, except Stephen and Debbie, who were on honeymoon. Strike and Alexandra were the obvious novelty and attraction of attention. “Robin says you’re a sea man, aren’t you?” he spoke with a heavy Yorkshire accent. “Do you have a boat?”

“Robin exaggerates slightly,” Strike side smiled. “I was born in St. Mawes, a coast town south Cornwall. My Uncle and Aunt there do own a motor boat and a sailing ship, but I never owned an embarkation. And I never spent more than four or five years non-stop there, because my mother liked to travel a lot, so we lived in many places. Most of my life I’ve been in London so, I’m more a city man. Although I do love St. Mawes very much, I always miss the ocean.”

“And do you know how to sail then, Cormoran?” asked Mer with avid interest while serving them glasses of Scottish whisky.

“I do, as a matter of fact,” Strike nodded. “Used to sail a lot with my uncle. We’re pretty close.” Robin’s family nodded in approval.

“Well, opposites attract,” Freya declared solemnly. “Country girl, sea boy...”

After lunch, Elsie, Elijah and Mer, took Strike, Alexandra and Robin, riding. Strike didn’t want to admit he found horses hard to trust, while Alexandra excitedly mounted on a white horse called ‘Alderain’ with Elsie’s help. Alexandra had never ridden a horse, but she was learning quickly from Elsie, as they rode together, and before mounting on her own favourite horse, ‘Augustus’, doted by herself and that only consented being mounted by a small group of people including herself, Robin helped Strike mount ‘Clydesdale’, the biggest of all their horses.

“Good old _Clydesdale_ will serve you well,” declared Elijah patting the horse as Strike insecurely sat on it. “The key is not letting him know you’re scared. He’ll feel it and be as insecure as you.”

“I’m not scared,” argued Strike unconvincingly, sitting on top of the huge, black horse. Having in count that he had no feeling of half a leg, he was pretty insecure.

“Don’t worry,” said Robin leaning over _Augustus_ to kiss him. “He’s a good boy, aren’t you, _Clydesdale,_ love?” she patted the horse fondly. She looked super secure on her horse, but stayed behind with Strike as they rode and she gave him instructions, not wanting to speed, as much as she loved to, until he was ready.

Alexandra, opposite from her father, had already rode her horse fast speed towards the horizon alongside Elsie, and Strike was daring to go slightly faster, bored of the slow speed. Then, Elsie yelled.

“Help!” her voice of terror made her parents immediately trot to her as fast as the horses would go. Robin speed up too, and Strike followed clumsily, thanking heavens that _Clydesdale_ seemed to just feel attracted to following the others, so he barely had to do a thing.

As he arrived to the rest of the group, Strike’s blood froze. Elijah had dismounted and stood with a concerned expression, with Alexandra in his arms, apparently suffering severe seizures.

“She collapsed against the neck of the horse,” explained Elsie, looking at Strike all pale, standing next to her father. Robin ran to Alexandra and Mer helped Strike dismount, and he also ran to her, as fast as his stump would allow.

“Shit, Al...” Robin tried to wake Alexandra up, but her eyes where white and she was shaking violently. “Something’s wrong, there’s no reason for her to be suffering seizures.” Strike had lost all the colour from his face.

“Tell me there’s a hospital close, please,” Strike breathed out, taking Alexandra in his arms.

“It’s got to be Ripon’s hospital, is the closest,” said Mer, worried. “It’s twelve miles at least, the ambulance won’t be here in less than twenty minutes, another twenty to go back, and that’s if there isn’t much traffic and can go fast.” Strike paled further, if possible. But Robin had already made a plan.

“ _Augustus_ is our fastest horse,” said Robin, suddenly having an idea. “He’s really fast, he can run thirty miles per hour. His mother was a racing horse, right? And I’ve galloped with him, he can do this. Besides, we can go straight line, I know the way and we won’t have traffic at all, all through the countryside in a straight line is not even nine miles from here, I’m sure.”

“What?” Strike frowned. “What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking I can get Alexandra in the horse with me and in half an hour at the very most we’ll be there, probably less. _Augustus_ is good, Cormoran, and I’ve been ridding all my life, trust me,” said Robin. “If anyone can do this, it’s _Augustus_.”

“Are you sure, darling?” asked Elijah looking concerned.

“I’m sure,” Robin got back into the horse. “Here, Cormoran, sit her in front of me.”

“How? She’s shaking so bad!”

“It doesn’t matter, I’ll hold her!”

“Here!” Elijah took the reins from his horse. “We can use these to wrap Alexandra to you, like a seat-belt.”

Carefully, they manoeuvred to tie Alexandra to Robin has fast as possible, keeping her tightly wrapped.

“I’ll follow you with Decan, she’s pretty fast too, and that way if anything happens, I’ll be right there,” said Elsie.

“We’ll get Cormoran back to the farm and from there we can drive to Ripon,” added Elijah.

“Why not drive Alexandra there? It’s safer,” said Strike, suddenly remembering the cars back at the farm.

“Because if there’s a lot of traffic, or road cuts, and around here traffic often gets slowed down or roads cut due to the transport of agriculture and animals, that sometimes obstruct the roads, we may not be there in less than forty,” reasoned Mer. “Robin will do good, we’ve used the horses before to get to places quickly.”

“Robin...” Strike looked at her all anxious. “Please take care. Both of you.”

“We will,” Robin nodded. “C’me on _Augustus_ , run!” and soon, Robin and Elsie were out of sight.

 

 

 


	39. The monster

**Chapter 39:**

Hours later, they sat at the waiting room in Ripon’s Community Hospital. Robin’s family had already taken the horses back to the farm, after  _Augustus_ ’ phenomenal job, and Robin’s parents waited with Strike, Elijah and Robin to hear any news. Strike had been pacing around, anxious, until his leg forced him to sit down, and now one of his huge hands was squeezed between Robin’s as she tried to keep him calm enough to avoid a stroke. Alexandra had been taken to the theatre fast after the doctors had seen what looked like a tumour in a MRI, and they still hadn’t given them any news.

A doctor then came, asking for ‘the father’, and Strike quickly got up.

“Your daughter’s got a gigantic brain tumour, Mr. Strike,” the doctor said. “I suppose it was so small when the first scans were taken, that it was impossible to detect. It’s rare, but it can happen. And now, it seems that it grew tremendously in just days, perhaps a couple weeks, hence the lack of symptoms, but now it’s taken quite a proportion of the brain, affecting the coordination skills, language, writing skills, orientation... we’ve performed a surgery to take the mass out, because the mass was growing increasing the cranial pressure,” the doctor continued explaining, gesticulating with his hands as Strike frowned with the medical talk. “It was provoking headaches and eventually the pressure got so big, seizures came. She might’ve had them before, since seizures can be almost unnoticeable at times. It can be a slight shaking of a hand even. This tumour can have provoked your daughter’s hallucinations, so it’s possible that she never had what Ms Ellacott here told us was schizoaffective disorder. It’s likely that Alexandra was misdiagnosed because the tumour wasn’t visible at first.”

“Alright,” Strike nodded, trying to assimilate the amounts of information thrown at once. “So she had a tumour. So you took it out. So she’s going to be perfectly fine now, right?” The doctor sighed.

“We can’t be sure yet, Mr Strike,” said the doctor then. “We’ll have her on chemo to make sure the cancer is gone, since she still has cancer cells that could provoke another tumour. She’s resting now after we woke her up briefly to make sure she was responsive, which she was, and we’ll keep her asleep for a few days now so her brain has time to recover from the surgery, sedated so she’s in no pain. Given the size of the tumour and the fact that we had to go in so rushed because her life was at risk and didn’t have time to study things properly with days in advance, the surgery was quite long, complicated and tough, and even though the mass is gone, the brain will still be swollen for some days due to the surgery, so symptoms could take a little to disappear. And then, as everything with the surgery was so difficult, we can’t be sure of the amount of unintentional extra damage that might’ve been done to the brain as we attempted to extract the mass attached to it, so we won’t really know how well Alexandra will be until she’s more recovered for us to test her with her awake.”

“But wait a second,” Robin, next to Strike, kept a hand on his back to keep him calm as they stood up. “The only symptoms she had were hallucinations and pain, nothing else that we could notice until today. How’s that possible?”

“It’s possible that all the symptoms were too slight to notice,” said the doctor. “Or that they didn’t appear at all until today or little days ago. All tumours are different, there’s people who have died from cancers that never gave them a symptom, so they didn’t know they had it. It doesn’t happen all the time, but it happens.”

“Can I be with her now?” asked Strike. “At least hold her hand for a bit? Five minutes?” he was almost begging, knowing how strict doctors often were.

“Sure thing, please follow me? Just one person,” the doctor allowed. Robin kissed Strike’s cheek and told him to send Alexandra their love before letting him go be with his daughter. “You’ve got a couple hours,” said the doctor as they entered a big room full of beds and he walked Strike to a bed in the far end, in a dark corner to avoid bothering her with lights, surrounded by machines. 

There laid Alexandra, sleeping, with tubes and cables and a bandage around her head. Strike sat on a small chair near the bed that looked unprepared for his weight and that miraculously didn’t tremble under it, and the doctor helped pull Alexandra’s hand out of the sheets for Strike to hold, which he did.

“Hey doc,” Strike said before the doctor left. “Look, uh, we don’t live here. We’re only here for a few days’ holiday, we live in London. Our family and friends are in London, and it would be so much easier if we could bring Alexandra to a hospital there? Because I’m freelance, I can’t afford missing weeks of work, but I don’t want her to be lonely, and if she was there, our family and friends could visit her and stay with her when I can’t. Besides uh...” Strike shrugged. “Hospitals there are bigger, better equipped, yeah? So... what are the odds that she can be moved? Without rushing, of course, when she’s ready...”

“Well...” the doctor shrugged. “Right now, your daughter is still too delicate to move her anywhere. But in a couple days, if she’s still stable, we’ll transfer her to London. Any hospital in particular?”

“There’s...” Strike meditated. He knew London like the palm of his hand. “I believe there’s the National Hospital for Neurology and Neurosurgery in Queens Square, it’s part of the NHS. That’ll be a good option for her, right?” The doctor smiled and nodded.

“I bet,” the doctor said. “I’ll get on with the paperwork. Have a good time with daddy and don’t give trouble, Alexandra.” Was added playfully while checking Alexandra’s machines and cables before leaving.

The next few days were tough. Strike felt all his energy was gone worrying about Alexandra. He sat there days and days getting anxious about her temperature, the way she looked, if she was pale, if a machine beeped too much or beeped nothing at all, if the bags were dropping into the tubes at an adequate frequency, if she was being checked too often or too little. There was always a reason to be anxious. So then he didn’t want to talk. Didn’t want food, either. Robin’s family were empathetic and caring and did their very best to be extra kind and giving and be attentive of Strike’s needs, driving him to the hospital anytime he wanted, day or night, Robin would make him tea if he had nightmares in the middle of the night, and they’d pack him food for a whole day in Ripon, every day. And four days after the surgery, when everything seemed to be improving and they had almost finished the paperwork to transfer her, an infection struck and suddenly Alexandra fell into coma, so the transfer was rushed, knowing the new hospital would give her the best attention and care available, and were specialists in brain issues. And five days after the surgery, they were all back in London on a helicopter.

Robin’s parents understood perfectly well, because they had four children themselves. Four children that had been in hospitals, in tricky situations, and had given them similar levels of anxiety, so therefore, they drove to London right away because Robin informed them, in one of the many calls they made to London to check on Alexandra, that Strike didn’t know what to do with himself. He hadn’t been a parent until far too recently, and he hadn’t been prepared for that kind of emotional stress. Being told his only child was in coma, for God knew how long, with cancer cells swimming in her blood, having created a small tumour in her liver, and undergoing the chemo medications that only made her lose her hair, be weaker, and look worse, and knowing Alexandra could be dead any day, was the last drop, and he crumbled. He cried when Robin had never seen him cry at that level, and not only he cried, but he did it all the time, continuously, and with such tragic sounds as if he was crying all he had held up in his life. Robin wasn’t the only one stunned; his family and friends too. Not because the situation wasn’t to cry for; no one could say they hadn’t wept, and even less the ones who were parents themselves. They were shocked because they started worrying about how much could Strike really undergo without ending up in the hospital. For the first time in their lives, they were sincerely concerned it all might be too much for the always stoic, always in control, Cormoran Strike.

And for the first time, Robin could do nothing but sit and watch, and try not to break every time Strike broke, try to be the one being stoic and keeping her cool, for Strike’s sanity. Three weeks and five pounds less for Strike since Alexandra had entered Ripon’s hospital on Robin’s back, it was one of those December days when snow was falling intensely, Christmas was just days ahead, and the dream of a Christmas in Cornwall with his daughter for the first time ever had disappeared from Strike’s mind like the ground disappeared underneath capes of snow.

They were sitting around the bed, Robin and her parents, who came from Masham and were staying at Robin and Alexandra’s while Robin and Strike stayed in his attic –Robin tried to keep him away from Alexandra’s room as often as possible, because being there only brought him more despair-, Nick and Ilsa, Strike’s family who came from Cornwall and London, and Strike and Robin. Alexandra was lying as motionless as the previous weeks and Strike held her hand as the previous weeks, and although frequently they’d talk to Alexandra or read to her, as the doctors said perhaps she could listen, now they were too tired and too sad for that. The fact that Christmas was close and the plan for the moment was ‘staying with Alexandra’, only made things worse. The day before, Strike had shouted bloody murder at children for singing Christmas carols in Denmark Street. No tree had been put in the office. Strike couldn’t even cry or shout anymore. He had gone to do boxing with Shanker a few times, let his anger flow, but now he was too tired even for that.

“They said if she’s not awake next week, I should let her be disconnected,” commented Strike as casually as if he was talking about the news, although his voice lacked strength and energy. “They said her body is getting too exhausted. That she’ll start suffering soon. She’s still got cancer, and chunk of liver less, so now she’s too weak for many more rounds of chemo. It’ll kill her, if the cancer doesn’t do it first, or something else. She’s going to die anyway so why keep extending her suffering any longer.”

“She’s not going to die, don’t you even think that,” argued Lucy. “We have to stay positive, and even more when she’s listening. If we give up on her, then what’s left?”

“Well she should know what’s going on, if she’s listening,” said Strike stubbornly. “She should know that if I let her death come easier it won’t be because—“

But he couldn’t finish. He shook his head and simply stormed out. Robin slowly followed, wanting to give him time. She followed him keeping a certain distance, just looking after him, and eventually to her surprise, his quick for a legless man’s walking got him to the chapel the hospital had. She saw him hesitate upon seeing where he suddenly was, but then he came in, slower, and sat in the front row. The room was empty and his leg must’ve been hurting.

It was an Anglican chapel, not too big, and pretty humble. Robin stood by the door observing with tears in her eyes and anger in her chest as Strike cried sitting, and his back shook with his inconsolable weeping. Her eyes moved then to the cross, and she felt anger rise. She was baptised, so was Strike and so was Alexandra, not that any of them were very religious. Robin’s family was faithful and spiritual, but Robin had gotten too pissed at God when she was raped, and then again when Matthew hit her, to be too much of a believer, but she knew Alexandra’s grandparents had taken her to the Anglican church of their neighbourhood and taught her how to pray. And the idea made Robin furious inside, looking at such cross, knowing that God had failed Alexandra. He had taken her mother, her grandparents, and now he was going to take her in the worst possible way, after all the devotion her family had felt for Him. Robin imagined Strike must’ve been having a similar thought, adding that, as baptised as he was, God had had no problems taking away his mother, not giving him a father, throwing shit at his life, taking his leg, and now was going to calmly take his only daughter.

Eventually, she slowly walked to Strike, giving him time to recognise her steps, fix his appearance in the way he wanted for her to see him, and then sitting next to Strike. By all answer, Strike’s cheek landed on her shoulder and he let a long breath out.

“You know what’s worse?” murmured Strike, as if he was reading her thoughts, as they both stared at the cross on the wall, their hands intertwined between them. “He brought her to me. God,” Strike snorted, “He put our family back together after ripping it off, only to destroy it again. He showed me what the love of a daughter feels like, what it is like to have your own family, daydream of Christmas, enjoy birthdays together... only to take her away like this, and making sure I know He can screw up everyone I love and there’s nothing I can do, because He’s the boss, and I’m just a bundle of dust. He decides when we get to be happy. He’s a fucking cruel, inhumane God. He’s a bloody monster. And I can’t even wish He had never brought her to me and had protected me from this pain, because then, Alexandra would be undergoing this all alone in Southampton, with no one to give a shit for her. And the sole idea makes me want to puke my insides.” Then he sniggered bitterly. “And now we have to sit and celebrate His fucking birthday, damn pain in the ass.”

Robin scowled and looked down at him, cupping his face and kissing the top of his head.

“We’re not the toys of God,” affirmed Robin firmly. “He can’t take away how much we love each other and Alexandra. Or how much she loves us. He can’t kill all our memories and the fun and times we had together. One day she’s going to die, but it won’t be today or tomorrow. For now, she’s going to live, and she’s going to get through hell and come back, like all of us, and she’s going to become an amazing detective and one day, she’ll inherit our agency. We won’t have this Christmas in Cornwall, but we’ll have the next. You’ll walk her down the aisle when she marries some stunning lady, and she’ll be our maid of honour when we marry. I don’t care how much God tries to fuck out plans up. That’s what’s gonna happen.”

“How can you be so optimistic?” murmured Strike. “She’s really bad, Robin. There’s no way...”

“They took two tumours out of her. And she’s got your blood. Of course she can. She will.”

“Robin...” Strike looked up at her. It was his ‘don’t lie to me just to make me feel better’ look, that he had when a case seemed to be going downhill and no one had better news.

“Cormoran,” Robin smiled. “We create our reality. We created God, don’t you see? Who wrote the Bible? Who told the stories of Eden and Jesus? We did. We decide. Not Him. And if we say she’s getting out of this, then she is, because we are the bosses, and at any time, we can erase Him,” she looked at the cross with anger in her eyes and Strike stared, astonished. “Heard that, you prick?! You can _boogger_ off! She’s our girl, and you will not take her, and if we want to, we can kill you! We can burn your fucking Bibles and erase you from our minds, and don’t you think we wouldn’t!” Strike smiled, squeezing her hand.

“You’re a scary bird sometimes,” murmured Strike sitting up and looking at her with admiration.

“Haven’t you ever seen a mama bird protecting her nest?” Robin raised an eyebrow, smiling. “Come on, let’s go back to our warrior. We must tell her about Arsenal’s win last weekend, right?”

As they approached the room, however, they saw everyone who had been visiting was standing by the door in the corridor. Strike’s stomach fell to the floor as he saw their shocked expressions.

“No...”

 

 

 


	40. Survivor

**Chapter 40:**

“She woke up,” Nick said, beaming excitedly. “The doctor’s with her. She woke up, Oggy!”

Strike’s eyes widened as panic disappeared and he ran into the room. Breathless and grinning, he locked eyes with Alexandra, who was sat in bed as the doctor auscultated her from behind. Alexandra looked up at him, all pale and sick as she was, and smiled with obvious relief.

“Dad,” she breathed out weakly. Strike cried-laughed and rushed, sitting on the verge of the bed and bringing her into his arms, kissing the top of her head as he hugged her tightly, sniffling.

“My baby,” Strike whispered, squeezing her. “My sweet girl. I missed you so much, Lexie, so much...” he pulled away and cupped her face. “How are you feeling? Are you okay, love? Do you need anything?”

“I’m okay, just tired and weak,” Alexandra then coughed. “My throat’s all dry, can I have some water?”

“I’ll bring you some,” the doctor smiled kindly at them. “It seems like everything’s alright,” she added then. “We’ll need to do another MRI, but her brain seems to be working right, and she feels mostly fine. I’ve also taken a blood sample to analyse and see how the levels of cancer cells are.”

“Good,” Strike nodded, kissing Alexandra’s forehead. “Are you hungry, sweetheart? Robin can bring you anything you want.”

“No, I’m okay,” Alexandra smiled, caressing Strike’s, now all grown and thick dark, curly beard. “What’s this, dad? Look at you with this mop. You look like a vagabond!”

“Turns out you care much less about your shaving routine when your girl is so sick,” Strike shrugged. “Doesn’t it give me a hipster vibe? That’s trendy, right? So I can be a cool dad.”

“Dad, you’re the coolest Dad with and without beard,” Alexandra hugged him again. “I felt you holding my hand all the time. I felt when people kissed me or squeezed my fingers. Sometimes I could hear you, too.”

“Really?” asked Strike with his arms wrapped around her. They were alone in the room for a bit, apparently everyone had decided to give them some time and space. “How’s that?”

“I don’t know,” admitted Alexandra. “It felt as if I was underwater, waking up, going to sleep, waking up... The voices were muffled and sometimes I couldn’t hear anything... but others they became clearer. Many times I heard people tell me they loved me. I couldn’t distinguish every voice but I felt your big hands on mine all the time. I tried to squeeze back, but I couldn’t.”

“It’s okay,” Strike’s voice was soft and warm against her ear, and his enormous body brought her a sense of calmness and protection. “You’re safe now. You’re back.”

“But I’m sick though,” Alexandra pulled away. “I heard I have cancer. Is that true?”

Strike sighed while her eyes drilled into his. He could never lie for her, not even out of pity, and he took her hands.

“They took two tumours out of you, your liver is a tiny bit smaller now, but that’s alright, you know? Soon they will find no traces of cancer in your blood. We’ll be home soon, you will see. Christmas is only two days away, so perhaps not in time for that, but when you come home, we’ll have our very own Christmas and all of this will just be a bad nightmare.” Alexandra nodded slowly before shrugging.

“At least I’m back.”

The day was full of tests as they tried to determine in exactly what situation the young Strike was –now her surname had been officially changed- and finally the next day, as Alexandra devoured her lunch with sudden appetite, results came in and apparently, Alexandra had drastically improved. Her brain was mostly fine, although she was a little uncoordinated and her capacity of time understanding was a bit handicapped, and she couldn’t write her own name without her handwriting looking like a three year old wrote it, but it was still pretty good for what they had expected. On the other side, it seemed like there was no trace of cancer in her veins any longer, although she was bald, as her whole hair had fallen with the chemo, even her eyebrows, and her bandaged head was covered with one of Strike’s warm winter beanies, a garment Robin would’ve never thought Strike owned. In a weird turn of events, Alexandra seemed to have forgotten all of her Latin, but that was alright. Strike would take that over her death a hundred thousand times. The infection still lingered, but was barely there, so they expected it would go away in a matter of days.

“Big, big chicken,” was saying Alexandra on Christmas lunch. Her meal had been especially nice given the day, but now she and Strike were lying together on her bed fantasising of the good old Christmas lunch they would have when Alexandra came back.

“As big as a sheep,” proposed Strike. “And we’ll put the best brown sauce in the world, you’ll see. It’ll be delicious.”

“I can almost taste it,” Alexandra hummed in approval. “And potatoes!”

“And beer, tons of it. You may have juice,” Strike added with a snigger, and Alexandra chuckled. They were so smiley and happy now that Alexandra was back, one cheered up just with looking at them.

“Hey, Dad,” said Alexandra suddenly as they snuggled together, alone in the room. “Would you do something for me?” Strike looked at her with curiosity.

“Of course, Lexie-Lex, anything at all,” said Strike seriously. He would’ve given her his liver even. Alexandra smiled.

“Will you marry Robin?” Strike’s eyebrows shoot to his hairline and she giggled. “It’s just... In every romance, they’re always wishing they had more time together. That’s all everyone wants, isn’t it? More time. With family, with friends... and it never seems to be enough. If this thing killed me now, I know there would be a hundred things I would’ve left undone like, falling in love, but like for real. And what you guys have... is like poetry describes. And novels. The kind of love that doesn’t seem real. Like Nick and Ilsa. That love without resentment, without chastising the other all the time, where you can both be yourselves and no one will be bothered about it. When you have something so special, you should never let it go, and you should take care of it like the best thing in the world, the most valuable, because it is. Because a hundred people would kill to be in your position and have what you have. After all, isn’t it incredible when someone wants to give you all of their time, for the rest of their life? They’re giving you the most valuable thing they have. Something they can never recover.”

“I know, I get it...” Strike shrugged. “But I don’t have to marry to show her how much I love her. To share my life with her. Don’t I?”

“Of course you do,” Alexandra smiled. “Because it’s Robin, Dad! She’s the kind of girl you marry,” Strike chuckled at hearing his own thoughts from his offspring’s mouth. “She’s the person who spends her childhood dreaming with a wedding like the one William and Kate had in the summer. With flowers, with beauty... where the bride and groom are like the most beautiful finish on the top of a palace. The last perfect touch. Besides, with how quiet you are about your thoughts, imagine how it would make her feel to see you stand up in front of a thousand people and tell her how much you love her loud and proud. And after all she’s been through with her ex, getting to rub in his face how happy she is. Not that it really matters to marry or not nowadays but... I think she’d really like it. You could envision it as a party on your honour, if you’d rather.” Strike grinned.

“Good idea. We’ll have our wedding our own way. Without all those boring, typical things, and you’ll be between our maids of honour,” proposed Strike. Alexandra grinned and nodded. “She knows I want to marry her one day, in truth, we already spoke about it so, you can relax because it will happen.”

“Yes!” Alexandra cheered.

“But not anytime soon, we’ve only been together for two months.”

“I know,” Alexandra nodded. “Just because time’s running out it doesn’t mean you should hurry and fuck up.”

“You sound like a detective already,” Strike grinned, kissing her forehead. “And tell me, since we’re talking about this, how would you like a little sibling?” Alexandra beamed excitedly.

“I’d love one! Are you kidding? Someone to spoil and pamper, I’ll be the cool big sis taking them to concerts.” Strike snorted.

“It’s a deal then. We are going to have a big, fat family of lightweights and steak-devourers.”

 

 

 


	41. We're doing this

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! If 10 people review and request it, I could publish the second part of this story! if not it's okay ;)

**Chapter 41:**

Alexandra came back home several weeks later, when the snow had covered London with a thick cape and the temperatures had dropped significantly. During those weeks, she slowly got stronger and stronger, her eyebrows came back to normality, and she was released once she was thought strong enough to withstand the below zero temperatures and the tough weather. Hallucinations gone, medication also disappeared, and she enjoyed feeling more mentally healthy than she had in months. She was belly-laughing again, and eating enormous steaks with a stomach seemingly stolen from her father.

One night, Alexandra had gone to bed during a snowfall of late January while Strike and Robin were snuggled on the sofa watching a movie together, when Strike, under the excuse of checking on her, went to Alexandra’s bedroom.

“Lil bug, are you awake?” Strike whispered entering the bedroom as quietly as he could. Alexandra snorted a laugh.

“Yeah, what’s up?” Strike came to sit on the verge of the bed.

“How would you like if the three of us moved together to an actual house? Somewhere nice.”

“We practically live together and this flat is pretty nice?” Alexandra turned the lamp on and looked at Strike. Her head was covered by a small amount of dark, curly hair. “Don’t you like it here?”

“I do,” Strike shrugged, looking down, shyly. “It’s just... it’s silly, really. Stupid...”

“Dad, come on...”

“I’ve never had a house,” Strike shrugged again. “I had a squat, a flat, my family’s house in Cornwall... but I’ve never had an actual house.” Alexandra smiled soft.

“You do know houses have stairs and need for you to actually mow the garden, right? And they are bigger than your attic, not so easy to just hop around. I would’ve thought they’re the nightmare for a person with half a leg less.” Strike rolled eyes and nodded.

“All of that is true,” admitted Strike. “But Robin loves houses, she’s only lived in houses. She thinks flats are too tiny, and she loves having a garden so it feels like having a piece of Masham. You know, perhaps even a dog. Just a relaxing area and perhaps a pool even. Plants. Trees. And I would like that too, some semi fresh air in the middle of London. Nick and Ilsa’s garden is nice, they have a palm.”

“Okay...” Alexandra nodded. “So you want a house.”

“I’ve stopped renting the attic,” informed Strike, surprising Alexandra. “A couple weeks ago. Robin knows. I thought I’m barely there anymore anyway and it’s throwing money away, money that could be invested in your health, between other things. Robin and I agreed I’d move here, and we know this flat is actually yours and we didn’t ask you—,”

“This flat is ours. I thought you had already moved in here,” Alexandra shrugged, interrupting him. “I love you here. I love the three of us together. And I’ve never thought of this flat as ‘mine’.”

“Thanks,” a smile appeared in Strike’s expression. “So this led to Robin and I talking houses and discussing whether it’s really correct of us to live together when we’ve only been dating for three months and well... we thought we’ve practically lived together in the office for two years now, plus the weeks I’ve practically lived here, and no one had any complaints, so we’d be fine in our own house. I’m clean and neat, and she’s organised and knows how do I like my stuff, and I know how she does like things I wouldn’t normally put in my house like, decoration, so we will respect each other and I promised she can decorate all she wants.” Alexandra sniggered. “Besides, three of us living together means all the money we make stays with us, so we’d save so much economically. Think about it, instead of each of us having to carry on with their own expenses...”

“I know. I said I approve, Dad. I like the idea.”

“Yeah...” Strike nodded. “This flat is nice. I have great memories here. But now we can afford a house. With all we’ve made this year in the office, all the clients rushing in after Laing, no longer having to pay different houses... I don’t think I’ve spent money on something that wasn’t fully necessary just for the joy of it, in ages. I would love a house. I’m thinking of a nice sitting room with a TV, where Nick and you and me can watch football together, of an studio where we can work when we’re sick of the office or just sick in general and where you can study for university, a dining table big enough so Robin can invite her whole family over whenever, because even though I’m not used to those things, she’d love it. I imagine a garden with space for our child to run, for us to grow our own healthy veggies because Nick insists I need to be on a healthy diet,” Alexandra chuckled. “With green grass for when we miss our hometowns, and a barbecue. I see you having a bigger bedroom with a big bed for your dates, because I’m a cool father,” Alexandra blushed but giggled. “And your own space because you’re nineteen and you could use it. Perhaps even your own computer at home, right? And a room for Robin and me, and one for a future kid, and perhaps a guest room? Or we could just put a sofa-bed in the studio, whatever. I want to give Robin and you the best I can afford, and right now we can afford that. And I think it’d be nice to have such a great place to go home to after long days of work, instead of going from a small office to a small flat all the time. We could buy the house a bit outside the city centre and although it’d be a bit far from work, we do have the Land Rover, and it would be great because more than once paparazzi have stalked the hell out of us, and the house could be our own secret place where to be in peace and work from if we have to.”

“So basically, you’re thinking of a life with Robin.” Strike blushed hard, but nodded. “Dad,” Alexandra smiled, patting his hand. “Where do I have to sign?”

Strike’s grin was worth a thousand houses.

 

**. . .**

 

Robin Ellacott and Cormoran and Alexandra Strike moved into a beautiful house late in May. It was cheap enough for their economy but nice enough, because with some painting and the right decoration and furniture, they managed to improve its value until it looked to be more expensive than it had been. It had originally been a cheap house, unattractive in the inside although beautiful outside, and the back garden was so wild Strike was convinced spiders there must be twice the average size. But Robin saw, like in Strike, past the empty rooms, the old, yellowish, painting, and the whole aspect of it not having been taken care of in years, and begged for them to choose it until they gave in.

It was the number 18 of Shakespeare Road in Brixton, close enough to work, although they’d still spend some time commuting, and once they finished fixing things up, it ended up being perfect, still looking a little wild and dishevelled, but it just made it more charming. It had three bedrooms not too big but not tiny either, two full bathrooms, one toilet, a small studio where they put a sofa-bed, a nice kitchen-cum-dining room, a small but spacious sitting room, a tiny front porch and a small but savage back garden, plus the street usually had parking space and it was at only a quarter hour walking from Brixton Station.

They wound up spending a lot of time working in the house instead of the office, to save the half an hour of commuting, as the weather got sunny and the air conditioner kept their house nicely cold. One of those mornings, as Alexandra had gone out with a girl she liked, Ilsa called them to please babysit the children, because Nick had double shift at the practice where he worked and Ilsa had a trial to take care of. They didn’t like to leave the triplets at Nick’s practice often either, because they were so little and they cried.

“I’ll pick them up in a couple hours, three at most, promise,” said Ilsa anxiously as she passed the car seats to Strike and Robin, getting them out of the car. “I’m very sorry, I know you must’ve been working...”

“Ilsa, Ilsa!” Strike glared at her. “Stop worrying, will you? We’re their godparents, it’s always a pleasure to take care of them anytime we’re available, and being in the house, we’re perfectly available.”

“Yes Ilsa, don’t worry, we’ll have loads of fun, won’t we?” Robin smiled at six-months-old Alice sitting in the car seat she was holding. “We’ll take naps, eat and play around the rug, and I’ll teach Cormoran how to change a diaper.” Ilsa smiled, relieved.

“You truly don’t mind?”

“I will if you keep anguishing me,” grumbled Strike walking inside the house and putting the car seats on the coffee table of their gray-and-white sitting room so he could start taking Morgan and Theo out of the seats.

“Alright well, here are the diapers, there is talc and humid towels, and there are two changes of clothes for each, if anything goes wrong,” said Ilsa putting a big bag on the floor, and then another one. “And here are the baby bottles and a refrigerator bag with a few bottles of my own milk, in case they get hungry, although they just ate, and if you run out of it, there’s formula too. There are dummies, although Morgan hates it and will suck her thumb, and if you need anything, anything at all, call Nick, he promised to keep an eye out since I can’t have my mobile on at the courtroom.”

“All good, understood,” Robin smiled, scooping Alice up in her arms and kissing her chubby cheek. “Say see you to mummy Alice, she’s going to get bad guys in prison.” Ilsa smiled and kissed Alice profusely.

“God it’s still so hard to separate, my cute little munchkins,” Ilsa caressed Alice’s big cheeks and short blonde hair. Her eyes were now turning olive, like Ilsa’s, and her eyelashes, long like Nick’s, were blinking at her mother. She was the clearest mix of her parents, while her siblings looked more after one or another.

“We’ve got it covered, they’ll be fine,” Strike held one baby in each arm so Ilsa could squeeze them and coo over them all she wanted, and waited patiently until she was over, hugged them, thanked them a hundred times, and left. Then, Strike looked down at Theo’s round face very covered in wheat like hair as he stared at him with eyes identical to Ilsa’s even in the way he stared, having thick, drooling lips, the eyebrows now blondish instead of invisible, and then he looked at Morgan, who was just so much like Nick, with less hair than her siblings, the darkness had gone almost fair, her eyes were identical to Nick’s, and her nose, although her chin was, even at such young age, unmistakably Ilsa’s.

At first, it was all fun and games. The babies smiled, giggled a little, made a bunch of cute noises, and tried to slide through the rug. They took their toys and wiggled their legs and interacted between them in a way that reminded Strike heavily of watching a box with worms, always on top of each other, stealing the other’s toys, or ‘accidentally’ hitting each other. They were like hairless hamsters. Then Morgan started crying hungry as hell, Theo got a poo explosion, and Alice started wailing for no reason, and they panicked a little. While Strike ran to warm two baby bottles up with both girls in his arms, Robin ran to clean Theo, later requiring Strike’s help to start a laundry for the boy’s clothes, and gave the baby a quick bath.

By the time Ilsa was on her way back, Strike was exhausted lying on the rug half asleep with sleeping Theo and Alice tucked next to him, and Robin was sitting next to them with her back against the sofa and Morgan sitting on her lap, very awake, playing with a toy that made noises.

“Dear God, they killed us,” Strike breathed out looking at Robin. “Now they look cute, the bastards. I feel like I ran a thousand miles without a break.” Robin giggled.

“They’re nice though,” Robin kissed the top of Morgan’s head. “They’re getting so big and pretty, and they’re so loud.”

“Morgan’s sneaky,” Strike commented. “Theo is observant. Alice’s lazy. And they’re so Nick and Ilsa’s is almost like being with younger versions of them.”

“Really?” Robin chuckled. Strike smiled and nodded.

Then, after a moment of silence, when Robin thought Strike was asleep, his lips opened again.

“I can’t wait to see how ours is like. Hopefully a mini you,” he commented casually. Robin grinned big, not expecting him to make a mention at their possible offspring, and, putting Morgan on the floor carefully, leaned over Strike and kissed him, feeling him smile against her lips.

“We’re doing this, aren’t we?” Robin commented caressing his face. “A happily ever after, just you, me, Al, and a little bug.” Strike smirked.

“There is nothing I wouldn’t do with you.”

And Robin couldn’t wait either to see how much their future had in store for them.

 


End file.
